Science Fiction Plus v01n07 (1953 12) (Gorgon776)

short novel

THE TRIGGERED DIMENSION

by HARRY BATES

(author of “Death of a Sensitive.")

[E VAMPIfUTE

by HUGO GERNSBACK

STATUS OF SCIENCE-FICTION

Snob appeal or mass appeal?

I n a country as highly industrialized as the United
States, where every other person has a fair smatter-
ing of science, one would assume that the reading
.public, <>f science-fiction literature, would number tens
of millions. Actually, this is far from the fact.

Science-Fiction, to be sure, has a large following, but
it is split up and scattered, oyer a large expanse of
diverse media. These, in the. main, comprise science-
fiction newspaper strips, comics, motion pictures, radio
and television programs, books, and science-fiction
magazines.

The latter are at the bottom of the heap as: far as
mass penetration is concerned. This seems surprising at
first glance, but upon analysis is not. The sad fact is
that the circulation of today's representative science-
fiction magazine is below 1 00,000— most of them aver-
aging around 60,000. There are over thirty science-
fiction magazines in the U.S. today, but they duplicate
each other greatly in readership. Even if there was only
a 50% duplication, there still would be only 900,000
readers— which is small, as circulations go in the U.S,

Here eve must also add the phenomenon of the cen-
tral concrete core of science-fiction— the all important,
all penetrating Fan, the amateur— that delightful con-
gregation of aficionados , that vociferous and voluble
voice of all science-fictiondom.

Numbering fewer than 25,000, they are nevertheless
a power to reckon with. They have their regular-and
highly serious— conventions, their meetings and lec-
tures by the hundreds, and there is nothing in science-
fiction that does not have their complete attention.
Every new S-F movie, broadcast, book, magazine, is
avidly covered and discussed in every aspect. And when
it comes to magazines, a copy of every edition is bought
—some fans buying as many as 20 different fi-F maga-
zines a month, borrowing from fellow fans those which
they themselves don’t buy.

Their “Letters to the Editor,” are legion. The aver-
age fan letter is voluminous and frank, down to the
inner nucleus. The fan praises the stories he likes with
enthusiasm, but throws corrosive add in driving
streams on the stories which— to him— don't pass mus-
ter. The S-F fan knows Car more about S-F authors,
artists, editors and everything that goes into the maga-
zines than do the publishers themselves. And why
shouldn’t they? Few publishers ever have the necessary

time to read as much science-fiction over as long a time
as has the arduous S-F fan.

From all this it becomes clear why the S-F" fan sets
the pace for science-fiction today. He not only influ-
ences the author, but the editor and publisher as well.
Ffe— and only he— is the main body critique today. All
this is quite as it should be— because it helps to drive
the art to higher accomplishments.

Unfortunately, also, the best and most, assiduous
critics in the world often unwittingly generate forces
which in time may destroy the very edifice which they
helped so laboriously to rear.

Modern science-fiction today tends to gravitate more
and more into the realm of the esoteric and sophisti-
cated literature, to the exclusion of all other types. It is
as if music were to go entirely symphonic to the exclu-
sion of all popular and other types. The great clanger
for science-fiction is that its generative source— its sup-
ply of authors— is so meager. Good S-F authors are few,
extremely few. Most of them have become esoteric—
“high brow.” They and their confreres disdain the
“popular” story— they call it “corny,” “dated,” “passe."

Nevertheless, we note with interest that when a pub-
lisher recently br# ght out a popular priced quarterly
which had only “antiquated" reprints of science-fiction
of the late ao’s, it sold far better than other similar
efforts. The lesson would seem to be plain from this
and other examples: there is a fine market lor nepei
Suzcite, but an infinitely larget one for good ice cream.

If the young and budding S-F author— unspoiled by
the prevailing snob-appeal— will look around carefully,
he will, note that all S-F media— with the exception of
science-fiction magazines — always cater to the mass®,
They rarely have snob-appeal, the story is nearly always
simple, understandable to the masses, young and old-

Yes, motion picture producers buy the rights for
esoteric S-F books, but their scenarists carefully re-
write the whole story into simple language so that Ji is
not over the heads of the masses. Radio and television
scripts follow practically the same formula. So do news-
paper strips and the comics.

At present, science-fiction literature is in its dedine—
deservedly so. The masses are revolting against the
snob dictum “Let ’em eat cake!” They’re ravenous for
vitalizing plain bread!

outstanding stories and features a sur-
prise. You will be pleased when you open
the next issue of SCIENCE-htCTION-H
and note the choice science-fiction which
has been compiled to please the dis-
criminating reader.

> 100.00

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1,000 i

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»ag«.

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This i

symbol iztna sc
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DECEMBER, If SI

3

W hi n Johnny was five years old, he didn't know
he was a human being. On his fifth birthday
he was living in an eight-sided tower under
a yellow sky, and he played and had his lessons
in a most improbably-shaped wailed enclosure, and
he thought he was a very, very happy Khasr child.
He didn’t know that the Khasr had played a very
dirty trick on him by not killing him when they
massacred his parents and all the other colonists
on IJandu II, and he didn't suspect that every act
of kindness they showed him afterward was part of
an even dirtier trick. His playmates were especially
chosen Khasr, but he didn’t know that, either. When
he waked in the morning, his playmates waked too.
Johnny slept on a soft cushion, but his playmates slept
dangling from the bars of a cage-like contraption, hang-
ing by the claws on each of their eight legs. When he’d
had his bath they came crawling about Mai, saying
"Good-morning johnny," in human voices that they’d
carefully learned to copy from human vision-records.
Johnny beamed at them and zestfully asked what
they’d play that day.

They had eight legs, those Khasr, and barrel-shaped
bodies, and compared to their expressions art Earthian
tarantula looks positively benevolent, but johnny
didn’t know. He didn’t remember when he’d had
human parents. He’d been barely two when he was
captured and carried away; the small colony his parents
had lived M had been melted down to a lake of slag.
There'd been elaborate conditioning work on Johnny,
to make him able to stand the sight of Khasr, At first
they used euphoric drugs to keep him from screaming
with horror when they appeared. Then he associated
euphoria with the sight of them. At three he believed
implicitly that he was a Khasr. At five he thought he
w%s a happy Khasr child.

On his fifth birthday they first showed him pictures
of men. His tutors explained carefully that here were
some new animals that he -should learn about. Since he
was going to grow up to be the bravest of all Khasr, he
needed to learn about the creatures he would hunt and
kill. So— and here his crawling Khasr playmates made
a. human-sounding chorus of agreement— so today
johnnv would play at.the killing of men.

And he did. He played according to Khasr traditions
of the heroic. The Khasr were warlike and not nice
people. When they discovered humans, and found that
men were spreading all through the First Sector of the
galaxy, they mads war as. a matter of course. But the
Khasr tradition, of a well-conducted war was one that
their enemies didn’t know anything about. Their idea
of a glorious victory was a sneak-attack in which not a
single one of the persons attacked had an instant’s
uneasiness before he was dead.

So when Johnny and his playmates played at .killing
humans, it wasn’t hunting, as human children would

have played. It was strictly murder. But the slithering,
clicking Khasr squealed gleefully (as they had learned
to from vision-records of human children) —when

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Johnny turned a make-believe coagulator-beam on the
foolish make-believe humans who had come out of a
make-believe spaceship, and make-believe-killed every
one before they knew there was a Khasr around.

It was a charming new game, this pastime that
Johnny was taught on what happened to be his fifth
birthday* Before the double sum set that afternoon,
Johnny had slaughtered imaginary thousands of those
monsters, men. He went to bed in happy exhaustion,
beaming at the universe.

This was within a week or so of the Khasr massacre
on the Mithran Worlds. At that time human colonies
were still not using detectors. The official opinion was
that the vanishing of spaceships without trace was due
to pirates, and the small human colonies occasionally
found burned down to slag were the victims of pirates
too. There was an intensive hunt on for the people
who supplied those imaginary pirates.

But the Mithran Worlds killings shattered that illu-
sion, There were fifty thousand people on the inmost
planet, nearly that many on the second, and a quarter-
million on the third. When every human being on all
three planets was murdered and incinerated with no
clue to the murderers, the size of the atrocity proved
it wasn't pirates. Human official minds change slowly,
but it had to be admitted that somewhere there must
be a race something like the Khasr, and that they must
be found and exterminated. When this decision was
arrived at, Johnny was not yet six,

At ten, he was not quite as happy as when he was
younger. He’d noticed that he wasn’t exactly like his
playmates. They were as large as he was, but they had
more legs, with claws on them, and stiff, furry' hairs
growing out of their exoskelctal shells, Johnny's two
arms and two kgs were smooth arid hairless. He asked
questions. His Khasr tutors told him sympathetically
that Ms parents were traveling in a spaceship on which
the monstrous creatures men had played a strange
weapon. Because of that weapon he was not physically
like other Khasr-. But he was of a race of heroes, and
when he grew up he would kill men by thousands and
avenge the injury to himself and the insult to his race.

Johnny still believed he was a Khasr. Bur he had the
psychology of a human boy. At ten years, a boy needs
desperately to be exactly like everybody else. Denied
this, Johnny acquired a personal blazing hatred for
the face of men. who had mutilated him. Ironically,
while he hated mankind, he spoke only human speech.
His companions and tutors spoke human speedx to
Mia. He didn’t know there were different languages.
But he proved there were different sorts of minds.

Somewhere around his tenth birthday he invented
a new way of placing at minder. Zestfully he showed

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For many centuries , science , philosophy, and religion
have concerned themselves with the problem: of
whether men are born good or bad. 1 he reasonable
man. attributes importance to environment as well as
heredity, Murray Leinster, ever- popular, veteran
science-fiction author, considers in this story, the stag-
geringly diverse environments that must exist, on an
alien world. He selects one on which a small, Earth-
ling boy has been raised, who has never see.n the
Earth, and does not know he is human. This provides

DECEMBER, 1953

It wasn't really a battle but a very satisfying mas-
sacre, with the Khasr on the receiving end for a
change. Not one ship, not one Khasr got away. Yet the
Khasr did blow up most of their ships before the
humans could board them,

WT rraiN a month, Johnny took off from the Khasr
Ur planet. He carried with him the foaming hatred
™ * of the Khasr race. They didn't show that they
hated Johnny too, of course. There was a field turned
black— the normal vegetation was purple, but it was
hidden by the monstrous shapes gathered there— with a
crowd of furry monsters assembled to see him off. They
had carefully been trained to make human-seeming
noises, and they cheered Johnny. And he rose toward
the yellow sky with art inspiring memory of their
clawed legs waving in farewell.

He began what he believed would be the most
splendid war-feat of the Khasr race.

He could have been right.

The interspace field folded about his spaceship in
the peculiarly deliberate manner of interspace fields.
The stars and the twin suns of the Khasr planet gave
place to a view of mere gray chaos which is all the
"viewplates show when a ship is in faster-than-light
drive. And Johnny was alone. It was his first trip in
space, but the ship— a huge one— was very nearly auto-
matic. He didn’t need to worry about astronavigalion.
He had only to pass for a human being, and. the ship
would be landed on Earth as a trophy, and then
johnny would press one small button and that would
be that. So he believed.

For the best part of a day he simply exulted in the
splendid feat which he, a Khasr, would perform for
the Khasr race. But then a very peculiar fact turned
up. Not only was this his first trip in space. It was
the first time he had ever been alone so long as he

There was nothing to do. The ship was automatic.
There were no vision-records, because it was a Khasr
ship and human ones didn’t belong in it, and Khasr
ones would have had Khasr speech on them— which
might have caused Johnny to think. There were no

books. For the same reason. Ii was solitary confine-
ment. It was worse. It was solitary confinement in a
ship in that unreality which is not a cosmos, which is
stot actuality, which is not anything at all and which
is called interspace. Technically, Johnny and his ship
were unrealities. And Johnny was alone.

After the first week— his ears ringing, dizzy with the
silence about him— he tapped the recognition-signal.
Then he heard, over and over and over again, the
message it broadcast,

“Human ship i” said the signal desperately. “Head-
ing for Earth! Prisoner escaping from Khasr!

There was never any answer. Naturally! But. johnny
listened to it while loneliness ate at Ms vitals. A
Khasr doesn't get lonely. A human does, Johnny went
through an agonizing human experience, wholly in-
consistent with his conviction that, he was a Khasr.
He had solitary confinement without even the break
of a daily visit by a jailer. A week would rack the
nerves of an adult human. A month would drive
him mad. Fortunately, Johnny was fourteen years old
and tougher than a human adult in such matters.
But he had two months and a week and two days of
it . . . He was not a normal Khasr when the ship began
to decelerate. He wasn't even an artificial one.

W V T hen the warning-drum boomed for pop-out— the
W Khasr didn’t like the sound of bells— Johnny

* ’ was hanging oil to sanity by the knowledge that
presently he would have to talk to men and persuade
them that he also was human. He would talk to some-
one— something— that was alive. He would have the
company of the monstrosities he had come to destroy.
And he craved company so desperately that he actually
wanted even human company.

Which the Khasr, of. course, had been completely
unable to anticipate.

With a leisurely unfolding of the interspace field,
the Khasr ship popped back into normal spate. There
was a pale-yellow sun not far away— bright enough
almost to have a disc. ’There was all the magnificence
o£ the galaxy for johnny to stare at, after chaos. There
were the thousands of millions of stars of every imagi-
nable color against a background of velvety black.

Johnny stared, trembling. And then his communica-
tor growled, while his recognition-signal still babbled
its message.

“You m the Khasr ship “ said a sardonic voice.
"Any last words, or do we blast you now T f

could remember. The Khasr had never left Mia in
solitude. They were busy supervising his mind: con-
ditioning him to remember that he was a Khasr and
chat he hated men.

But he suddenly discovered that he was lonely. He’d
never known the sensation before.

Day* passed. His ship went on and on through that
nothingness in which speed beyond the speed of light
Is achieved. The ship’s transmitter sent out a purposely
crude imitation of a human recognition-signal as it
went past the stars and planets of the void. The signal
went back into normal space, of course, and was picked
up. It was analyzed. Eyebrows raised at its character-
istics. Humans have eyebrows. Khasr do not.

A message went on ahead of him, faster than light
and even faster than Johnny's ship. The message said,
"A human recognition-signal, unofficial, is heading
for Earth from a Khasr ship . Get him!"

Action was taken upon that signal. In interspace
a ship can gain speed or it can decelerate, but it must
always be gaining kinetic energy or losing it. If it tries
to achieve "stasis it pops back into normal space again.
It is not wholesome to pop back into normal space
at several light-speeds. So nobody tried to Intercept
Johnny in interspace. Ships leaped to meet him where
he would come out.

And Johnny grew lonely. He had never been alone
for as much as five minutes. Now there was nobody
to talk to and nothing to do for days. For weeks. For

Johnny gasped. Then he saw the sleek Earthship,
swimming grimly toward him through emptiness. He
stabbed the communicator-button and moved in range,

“I— escaped from the Khasr,” he gasped. “I— I—
Please keep on talking!"

If the Khasr had heard him, they would have been
wonderfully pleased. It was the one truly convincing
thing he could have said. He heard a reflective whistle,
and then a voice speaking aside from the microphone
tn the Earthship.

"Look at this! How good are those Khasr at making
robots? Or is it really human? 1 '

Johnny sweated, Robots do not sweat. Nor Khasr,
He gulped:

‘‘I’ve been— alone since I left, S— somebody please
come on board!"

That was part of the original scheme. The Khasr
had hoped originally only for a suicidal dash of their
ship into collision with Earth, with Johnny using his
human form and voice to delude those who would
have intercepted him. And he wouldn’t know it was
suicide. But this was better. Johnny had planned it.
But he meant it differently nowl

DKIMMR, 1953

and flowers blooming, lie tried to conceal file ettcct
of all these things upon him. He tried to mimic
Mike’s blithe irresponsibility. Bat Mike’s sister Pat
grinned wickedly at him when he tried to use Mike’s
own very manner. She seemed to realize that johnny
was having, at fourteen— two years older than herself
—all the experiences most people have as babies, when
they’re practically wasted. She bossed him a little, and
he tried to patronize her,

johnny was very happy, in Mike's house and treated
as if he were Mike's brother, even by Mike's sister and
his dog.

But there were moments when the unobtrusively
watching adults had their doubts. There was the night
when Pat cable in the room where johnny sweated to
1mm a game— and carefully think in terms of fair-
play as humans thought of it and not as Khasr
grandeur. Pat had a natural-history book in her hand.

"Johnny!”' she said firmly,. “I just thought! You've
never seen spiders. Have you? Like this?”

johnny looked at the page. There was a picture.
Mike's mother glanced casndUy to see. She tensed a
little. The picture was of a Mygale Hentzii — the
American tarantula. It was a good-sized picture, mag-
nified. The creature was eight-legged, with forty armor
Over its limbs. Its expression of implacable ferocity
was shudder-inspiring, johnny looked carefully.

'■‘That looks like Tori..,” he said steadily. After a
inoiaent he added, "He raised me. He was my nurse , , .
my teacher.”

Pal looked blankly. Mike scowled at Met. She looked
/apprehensively at her mother, johnny noticed.. He
swung, about and looked up,

‘Tee never been allowed to go back to the ship I
came on/* he said quietly*. "And. nobody says anything
•beat the Khasr to at. .People have found out what
fjjtf 'gasifsi of tB,f voyage to .Earth was and what

Pit say; , 1

“Wha-t’d you. do that for? People say if you kill a *•

spider it'll make it rain!’*' 1

johnny said with satisfaction: i

“I like when it rains. I iike everything good on
Earth." Then he said with a certain calm, masculine,
brotherly generosity, "I can even stand, you, Pat.

You’re a lot like Mike.”

W ithin minutes of that moment a spaceship pop-
ped out of overdrive a very long distance away.

It was, as it happened, the very same space-
ship in which johnny bad spent two months, a
week, and two days, on his journey to destroy the
human * race while he 'believed he was a Khasr.

Humans had examined the ship and had taken
samples of its material— which if properly trig-
gered would detonate, not in atomic fission and
not in atomic fusion, but in atomic annihilation— and
they had put some extra equipment in it. They’d
located the position of the Khasr planet by examining
the automatic-control system that had guided the ship
to Earth. But they’d put a robot pilot on board, to take
over when this ship came back to normal space.

It popped-out in the Khasr solar system, traveling
forty thousand miles a second. Its- robot pilot made
what turned out to be a very minor correction in its
course. It. sued lor the Khasr home planet. At forty
thousand miles a second, detectors are not much use.

When, a ship has to travel less than three seconds from
pop-out to landing, they aren’t any use at all.

They weren't, in this case. As a matter of fact, their
attempt to report hadn't even been noticed when the
ship from Earth touched the atmosphere of the Khasr
planet.

So not a single one of the Khasr had even an
instant's uneasiness before they all were dead. 4*

SI

A Short-Short +

by CORWIN F. STICK NEY

F or untoijj milxenia the virus mass had drifted
over the arid wasteland, 'knowing that it was the
only sentient life on the planet. Yet ceaselessly
and tirelessly, driven by instinctive need, it searched
lor the perceptive host that, did not exist. The dying
world barely sustained the virus mass, the irreducible
remnant of its life, and, inevitably, when all air and
warmth were dissipated, death would come to both.
But a time came when the thin atmosphere was dis-
rupted by shock waves and a blast of welcome heat.
The virus mass drifted curiously toward the source of
the disturbance, toward the cylinder of gleaming metal,
towering in the desert, , , -

"Take it easy, Neville!* complained the puffing
little biologist. He struggled with the catch of his
helmet, secured it, and snapped on the battery-powered
microphone, "I'm as anxious as you to set foot on solid
ground, but Mars is no place to break a leg!”

The larger man grunted impatiently, spun the knob
that opened the airlock, and stepped quickly through.
When Wilmer was beside him he closed the lock and
put a gauntleted hand on the outer-hull door. Pausing,
Neville glanced amusedly at the rotund biologist,
whose heavy breathing filled his earphones.

"With your avoirdupois," he commented, "you could
fall a mile and not worry. After you!"

An oval area in the gleaming cylinder swung out-
ward, permitting the exit of the two suit-clad creatures
who might or might not be suitable hosts to the virus
that was unknown to them. The virus approached.
However, the creatures proved unsuitable; their .sur-
faces were entirely nonporous. The virus floated past
the ova! area Just before it closed, and. .explored the in-
terior surfaces of the ship. They, too, were nonporous.

Finding itself confined, the virus waited for a period
that was inconscq non rial is its lifetime of 'waiting.
Then the opening reappeared and the men entered.

“The planet is dead,” muttered Wilmer, shedding
his spacesuit. "Totally dead. What a letdown our
report will be !

Neville was equally depressed. “Yeah," he drily
agreed. “There's hardly arty point in testing with your
pets. I wouldn't wish this place on my mother-in-law,
much less Jackie and Jo-Jo.”

At mention of his* beloved monkeys, Winner's in-
terest revived. "Oh, .no,” he said, starting toward their
cage, “I must make the tests anyway. We have to
learn—*'

Neville looked up as Wilmer’s voice became a
strangled sound, saw his face turn green, his eyes roll
wildly, saw him become violently sick and crumple to

the floor. Then Neville, staring, was swept by waves
of nausea. The rocket, compartment rotated dizzily
about .him as his kinesthetic centers went abruptly
out of control. . . .

These two creatures were porous , alter all! The
virus mass had split and. each half was surging through,
layer after layer of warm, pulsing tissue, hungrily
seeking the vital centers where sustenance and fulfill-
ment lay. Each perceived the nearness of its goal— and
at almost the same instant each came to a frustrating,
shocked halt.

These creatures were already virus-occupied!

Immediately the invaders unleashed furious attacks,
attempting to envelop the resident viruses. But in
neither case could the edge of surprise endure; in
seconds each invader knew that its aroused foe was too
numerous and too firmly entrenched.

There was nothing to do but withdraw.

Reunited, the virus evaluated its adversaries. Clearly,
from their intraneural location, they too were sym-
biotic, performing the age-old function of stimulating
and coordinating the host. But, judging from their
hosts' limited capabilities, these symbiotes might be
of a lower order, or else perhaps there was a chance
they had. become sluggish and inefficient. Perhaps
unified assaults— first on the short, rounder host, whose
occupant viruses had come nearer to defeat .. . , but
wait! There were other creatures here, other likely
hosts.

The virus drifted toward the other pair of creatures.
They somewhat resembled, in miniature, the two they
had found to he occupied. The virus mass split. . . .

A moment ago to the monkeys it had seemed the
most .fascinating and natural pursuit in the world to
be painstakingly grooming each other's body through
the bars of their separate compartments. As the virus
entered them, the game seemed to become pointless.
It even seemed to Jackie and Jo-Jo to have become
boring.

The brown rhesus monkeys drew apart and their
eyes met in a. long, intensely searching look, such as
no two Macaca rhesus had ever before exchanged. . , *

Their hosts, each virus discerned, were imperfect in
some ways. Compared to the first creatures— and the

( Continued on P&g& 30)

(fflmiris&itm by tmmrmm)

oe V.V? St W&0 % r- $$

tl

Fleet*

Piper marked another position, then said quietly:
"You should have picked it up further out., Schuiman.
That gear's supposed to have a range of four hundred
miles,"

Ensign Piper was my junior CIC officer, a somewhat
brash youngster— great for discipline— just out of CIC
school where they teach you with the latest equipment
kept in topnoteh condition. He wasn't used to the
frustration ' of working on a reconverted cargo ship
where the gear was left over from the last war and
topnoteh condition meant an overworked technician
had blown the dust off the tubes a week ago.

“I reported it as soon as it came on the scope, sir.
Should I call the technician?” Schulman’s 'voice wav
filled with that certain mixture of contempt and . re-
spect that enlisted men reserve for officious ensigns.

“Don’t bother/* 1 said, "just give its the plots as you
get them."

“Yes sir, lieutenant!"

Piper gave me a dirty look and went back to Ms
plotting. Five minutes later he threw down his pencil
and relaxed. “It’s circling, just outside the fifty-mile
m at k.

as long as I had, he wouldn't be asking me that, “Why
do you ask?”

“He's getting too wise/*

Piper sensed that I didn’t sympathize with him and
changed the subject. “Everybody’s getting discharged.
Every time 1 turn around, somebody else is getting
out.” He spat over the railing and watched it disappear
where the dull-green sea creamed against the hull.
“When are you going home, Mark?”

“I don’t know. One of these days.” I walked away
from the railing and turned up my collar against the
chill sea air. I would be glad to go home, 1 thought,
i had done as much as 1 was able, I had learned as
much as I could.

“You got a family?" Piper asked, offhand.

“A wife and kid. They’ve both been pretty sick."

“Really loaded down with troubles, huh?"

Piper wasn't actually interested— he was just butter-
ing up a superior officer.

“Everybody has them."

Sdiulman's thick physique suddenly appeared in
the hatchway. He looted worried.

“You want to take a look at this, Lieutenant? It
doesn’t look tight,"

I raised my eyebrows, “Circling? A thousand miles
out over the Atlantic?"

“Take a look for yourself/'

I watched him while he tracked the plane— or what-

We went back inside. Schuiman had the sweep on
the radar revolving at high speed so that the picture

“He raimi hi$ pistol and took aim, roving in a bull vote* . .

ever it was— for live more minutes. It was circling, all
right. Finally I said, “Keep an eye on it, .Schuiman.*'
and turned to Piper. "Let's take a break.”

We walked out to the small porch just aft of the
radar shack and lit up. It was a chili, fall day, the
sea a dull bottle-green. There was a faint scud of clouds
on the horizon and I could tell by the wind that it
wouldn’t be long before the sea became choppy and
foamed with white-caps. Below us, on the main deck,
the deck apes were taking down the high-line over
which we had just exchanged observers with the Bol-
lard Reefer. The Bollard had been pulling steadily
away for the last fifteen minutes and was now a good
two thousand yards off our port bow.

“You, know anything about this Ensign Daugherty?”’
Piper asked casually.

Daugherty was one of the Bollard’s observers. At a
CIC officer, he had been assigned to Piper and myself.

ia

Daugherty, Mark?"

Ensign Daugherty, I suddenly remembered, should
have reported to ClC twenty minutes ago,

T he old man stormed into ClC when I reported
the object at thirty miles and repeated the speed
figure of twelve hundred.

that the gun. crews were firing at: almost point-blank
range.

The firing kept up for a solid ten minutes, then
gradually died away to an apprehensive silence. A mo-
ment later the Old Man came in, his face grey. He
pointed to Schulman. “You! Open the port.”

Schufanan fumbled hastily with the dogs, then swung
the metal cover plate back against the bulkhead. The
Captain, Piper, and l crowded to the port.

The sea was choppy now. The clouds had closed in
and . it had started to rain, a fine drizzling mist that
cut visibility down to practically nothing. The object
we had tracked was hovering low over the water, barely
a hundred yards away. No factory on Earth, had turned
Out that squat, black shape, I thought. It bulked huge
in the mist, more tubular than oval shaped, more men*
acing than I had imagined.

ig tor almost two hours."

“You should have told us sooner, Mr. Evans,'" the
Captain said with a deceptive softness.

“We were pretty busy, 1 ' I said stiffly, “We had. a lot
to do”

He decided not to press it. “You think he might be
hiding on board, waiting for a chance to— transfer?"
“It's just a guess, but we can't afford to pass it up.”
“Then well have to find him," the Old Man said
grimly. “Soon."

.Ensign Daugherty, report to CIC irnmcdtntety!"

TB 1 he echoes from the PA system faded away, leav-
I hag myself and nine other men sweating in the
gloom of CIC. I cracked my knuckles and counted
the seconds to myself. The seconds mounted up to min-
utes but no shamefaced ensign showed up with a cock-

14

•ciiNa-fictioM<f

Si!

T he shif dropped out of the sky with little noise
other than that of its last braking blasts. Nor
was it visibly spectacular because it came in the
glare of the sun. Describing a shallow angle it neared
the surface and let go a dozen, bangs from its nose,
hit sand with its belly and. slid to a stop.

An expert eye could have seeti at a glance that it
was no ordinary moon-rocket such as flamed between
Earth, and satellite five times a week. It was longer,
thinner, racier. Close inspection would have revealed
it mote worn, battered, and neglected than any moon-
rocket was permitted to he.

Originally it had been golden but now most of the
plating was scraped away in fine, longitudinal stripes.
Tiny missiles of great hardness and incredible velocity
had scored the armor from end to end. In seventeen
places they had pierced it like needles going through
the rind of a cheese. Seventeen tiny air-leaks had been
plugged with a special gun firing bullets of near-
molten lead.

The ship had the pitiful air of something whacked
almost to death, like a maltreated horse. It lay ex-
hausted on the desert sand, its tubes cooling for the
last time, its casing showing a few dim hairlines of
gold-like remnants of departed glory.

Vaguely discernible near the tail were coppery
traces of the vessel's identification number: M.j. A
number once to be conjured with. A number to fill, the
world's television screens and thrill the minds of
millions. Newspapers still nursed typeset heads in
four-inch letters featuring that identification.

M.u COMES HACK.

They'd not had the opportunity to use it. M.i . was
out of time and place. Hie proper time lay many

by ERIC FRANK RUSSELL

months back. The proper place was Luna City space-
port whence it had departed. Not here, lying in the
desert like a corpse escaped from its grave. Not here
with, none to witness save the lizards and Gila
monsters, the scrubwood, cacti, and tortured Joshua
trees.

The man who came out the airlock was not better
preserved than his ship. Gaunt, with hollow cheeks
and protruding cheekbones, skinny arms and legs.
His eyes had the luminous shine of the feverish. Yet
lie was active enough. He could get around fine
provided it was at his own. pace. That pace had
three speeds: leisurely, slow, and dead-slow.

James Vail, thirty-three, test pilot first-class. Thirty-
three? He brushed thin fingers through long, tangled
hair, knew that he felt like sixty and probably looked
it. So much the better. The sharp-eyed and inquisitive
would pass him by, fooled by his appearance of aged-
ness. With all their resources the powers-that-be would
find It hard to trace a man who had aged enough to
be his own father.

He left the ship without a qualm or so much as
a backward glance. With respect to the vessel and its
contents, his conscience was clear. World scientists
would find precisely what they wanted within that
exhausted cylinder. All was arranged in readiness for
them: The samples, records, photographs, meterings,
the cogent data. He had been meticulous about that.
He had followed the line of duty to the last, the
very last. There was nothing missing— save the crew.

A road ran seven miles to the north. He had landed
the ship strategically, as near as he dared but safely
concealed behind a long ridge. Now he set forth to
reach the road, scuffling the sand like a stumbieburn,

generally helps m overcome my bitterness cultivated by past suffering. But sometimes success is obtained
at so great a cost that a man may desire nothing more than to lose himself in the anonymity of the masses .
Eric Frank Russell tells of one successful man who felt that way. The survivor of the first round-trip to
Mars, and his reasons for self-effacement, provide the basis of a story that is a tense suspenseful shocker,

(I’lut fraud bf Lammtm)

Traffic was sparse and the wait for a hitch likely
would be prolonged. That, too, could be regarded
as advantageous in that it reduced the chance of
some passer-by having seen the ship swooping ia

sweet way of messing up such tricks, don't you worry,"
He didn't offer details of his special technique . . *
evidently it was intended only as a warning. He was
a big man, red-faced and tough, but amiable. The
type who could strangle in defense— or give his own
dinner to a hungry dog.

"A trucker can pick up trouble any time the day
or night," the driver confided. “A hundred miles back

In due time a big green sedan showed up, ignored
his thumb, and roared past with a rush of wind
and a scatter of hot grit. Without resentment he re-
sumed his seat on the boulder. In the next couple
of hours eight cars and a creaking feed-wagon pre-
tended that” he was not there. Eventually a huge red
truck stopped and picked him up.

“Where ya for?" asked the driver, putting the truck
in gear and letting it lumber forward.

James Vail settled himself comfortably in the cab,
said, “Doesn’t matter much. Any place where I can
get a train.”

The driver glanced at his passenger’s hands, noted

mer to a hungry dog.

or night," the driver confided. “A hundred miles bac

there was a flashy dame on the curb waving like
crazy. Oh-o, I says, and beats it straight past. I been,
on this route before, see, and—”

He continued his reminiscences for an hour while
Vail lolled by his side and filled occasional pauses
with monosyllabic assurances that he was listening.
The truck trundled into a small town. Vail sat

erect, studying its shops. His tongue licked across
thin, pale lips.

“Reckon this place will do me.”

“Down on your luck, chum?”

“Not really. I’ve been sick."

“You look it.”

Vail smiled wryly, “Some folks look worse than they

are/*

“How come you got stranded out here in the wilds?”
That was an awkward one. He thought it over,
knowing that his mind was working with unac-
customed slowness.

“I was dumped six or seven miles back. I've been
walking quite a piece. Nobody would give me a lift.
Probably thought I’d try to stick them up.”

“That happens,” agreed the driver. Tve got a

“ Not one of the, fmgi or lichens wen edible,”

“You're forty miles from the railhead yet,” the
driver pointed, out.

“Near enough. I’ll make it later."

The truck stopped. Vail got down, moving stiffly.
"Thanks, brother. I appreciate the favor.”

“Think nothing of it." The other waved a friendly
hand and tooled his load away.

Eric Fmnk ffcetts! % implm Am gt Immm «l llrk
pr««stti story. I§ pmomtlly aetubls lor Ida wit
sod ouM.«®tJi«g «t humor* Though setimciN
fiction writing mas now boats mem than am utcm
cation to Mm* this Brltlshor If generally rated ij
being ®ta» to tie tqp wite* In the fields A
volume of hli mow outstanding short stories Is
scheduled to appear shortly imm Fantasy Press,

Vail stood on the sidewalk and watched the crim-
son bulk roll from, sight. Just as well not to stay
with that too long, he thought, A trail is harder to
follow when breaks are frequent and erratic. In due
time his would be picked up and every effort would
be made to trace it through. Nothing was surer than
that.

They would find the ship later today or perhaps
tomorrow or even the day after. In these modern times
air-traffic was heavy enough to ensure that some ob-
servant pilot would notice the grounded rocket and
report it. State police would go and take a look at it,
recognize it, call in the scientists.

From that moment the hunt would be on. Police
spotter-planes scouring the desert. Police cars tearing
along the roads. Vehicles halted over a wide area and
drivers questioned.

“Did you go past that point? At what time? Did
you see anything extraordinary? Did you notice a
couple of fellow's hanging around?”

Sooner or later a car or motorcycle would stop a
big red truck.

“You did, eh? About, ten-thirty? What was he like?
Where did he say he was going? Where did you drop
him?”

A phone-call back to this town and the local law

5% 5sj

he felt them in his fingers. Then slowly he got through
the plateful, savoring every morsel and pretending not
to notice the waitress watching him from the far end.

The moment he had finished she was back at the
table, removing the plate and eyeing h im inquiringly.

“No pie,” he said. "You gave me too much. Just
coffee,"

Momentary puzzlement showed in her features.
Somewhere her calculations had gone wrong. Shows
you can’t judge folks by appearances, she decided. The
longer one lives the more one learns,

Vail drank his coffee In easy sips, paid, and went
out. He did not turn to see whether her gaze was upon
him as he departed. Behave normally at all times,
insisted his mind. Behave normally.

With the same unhurried air he strolled along the
street, crossed a main artery, found another modest
eating place. He went inside, had two large servings
of pie and another coffee.

A-a-ah 1 that was better. Next call gained him a pack
of cigarettes. He lit up and inhaled in the manner of
one tasting the joys of paradise. Near the shop a long-
distance bus pulled into a stop and an old lady with
luggage struggled aboard, Vail managed a sudden
sprint that would have been beyond him a short while
ago. Clambering in, he found a seat near the front,

Trail-break number two.

the end of three weeks he had settled himself
seventeen hundred miles from M. 1 . Sheer dis-

ternporary. He had a room in a dilapidated but ade-
uate boarding-house, a job in a factory. Trainee
elder, they called him. From a test pilot to trainee
elder. He’d come down like a rocket.

call it m drag Mia where he did not want to
go, What did fitef really know of duty? He had done
Sis mm duty according to Ms lights as best he could
in terrible circumstances. Let that be enough and
mote than, enough. Let him live in peace and obscurity
wrtotit' being crucified for the sake of other, lesser
duties.. »

Every morning and evening when going to or from
work he bought the latest paper, scanned the head-
lines. Then at the first opportunity he’d go right
through it page by page, column by column. He
grabbed one this evening, took it to ills room,
studied It from front to back.

Nothing about M.i, Not a solitary word. Yet they
must have found it by now. They must want the crew.
Nevertheless nothing had been issued to the press.

Why this secrecy?

It occurred to him as a somewhat remote and rather
ridiculous possibility that those equipped to deal with
the data on the ship might question its authenticity,
might, be unable to define it as true or false. Somebody
with a strong imagination might have ventured the
notion that it, was all an elaborate hoax..

Though far-fetched, such a theory would explain
the missing crew. They hadn’t, landed. They had
never arrived. They had suffered some indescribable
fate and something else had brought the ship home,
something nonhuman and now running loose, God
knows where. Or, alternatively, the crew had brought
back the ship while possessed by parasitic masters now
roaming the Earth with their human, hosts.

Fantastic and not a little stupid— but if journalists
managed to brew up such ideas for the sake of sen-
sationalism they would scare the living daylights out
of the public. Silence alone could prevent a whole-
sale stampede.

He shrugged fatalistically, fished out of his case a
tattered newspaper rescued from a junkshop several
days ago. Laying on his bed he opened it for the
umpteenth time, absorbed the front page. Every time
he did this he marveled at. how quickly bygone events
fade from public memory. Today the main subject of
interest was the final stage of the Scarpilo murder
trial. Probably not one person in court could recall
the names of those who had made the headlines in
this sheet dated almost two years back.

M.i. TAKES OFF.

Luna City. o.o. GMT. The first ship to Mars roared
into an airless sky and vanished precisely at dead-
line this morning. Pilot James Fail and Copilot Rich-
ard Kingston are on their way. By the time this report
reaches the streets the long arm of Mankind will he
extended many thousands of miles into the cosmos.

And so it went on and on and. on. Pages full of it.
Pictures of Vail, dark-haired and solemn. Pictures of
Kingston, fair, curly, and grinning like a cat that has
swiped the cream. Pictures of the President pressing
the button that banged-off the boat by remote control.
Articles by scientists about the men, the ship, and
die equipment. Essays on how they’d cope with Mar-
tian conditions, what they hoped to discover.

A nine-day wonder. It had remained no more than
that until the ship was due back. Then the papers
and public interest had perked up again..

M.i. EXPECTED SOON.

More pictures, more articles, more anticipatory
ill fiagfc, A corning thunderclap in human history.
Malfirttg happened. The ominous note sounded two
'&£ ■ weeks later with the vessel that much over-
JtHs It built up over the next month* It ended with
grits acceptance of disaster, M.i. was no more. Vail
and -Itisgston had paid for Mars just .as twenty had

paid with their lives for the moon. Requiescat in pace.

And better luck next time.

He wondered whether the tardy return of M.i. had
delayed or accelerated that same next time. Nothing
he had read so far had made mention of any M. 2.
The authorities had a habit of keeping such things
quiet until the last moment. However, it was most
probable that up there high in the sky on Luna
another ship was taking shape and two or possibly
three men were preparing for a second assault on the
Red Planer.

There lay a major reason, for pursuit of himself.
They wanted the story from his own lips. They would
never be satisfied with what he had left them.

What had lie left them? One, there was a complete
record of the ship's flight performance outward and
inward. Two, the story of the main driver tube's
crack-up: how they’d repaired it and how long it had
taken. Three, full details of equipment faults or in-
adequacies of" which there had prosed to be many.

Samples of Martian sand ana bedrock, spa and
quartz, plus flakes of lignite-like substance that were
anisotropic and therefore of possible use to radar. Sev-
eral 14-foot-long string-thin ground-worms coiled into
pickle-jars. Also suspended in formalin were a few
of those harmless wrigglers that might be either true
snakes or legless lizards. Eight species of bugs. Twenty-
seven varieties of lichens. Thirty of tiny fungi. Noth-
ing big, because Mars had no life-forms of any size.
Possibly microscopes would turn up something.

And he’d. left them general data in great quantity,
Water-dispersion maps showing supplies sparse except,
within 200 miles of polar-cap rims. G-ravitic, magnetic
field, photon intensity, and numerous other measure-
ments. Temperature "records running between go°C
and minus 8o*C. Atmosphere pressure meterings from
.5 to .9 mm. Hg, Notes by the bookful and graphs
by the yard. It had been done as thoroughly as mortal
men could do it.

But it wasn’t enough.

A small part of the tale had been left out and they’d
want that too— in his own wards.

To hell with them!

N the mid-morning ten days later the shop fore-
man yelled, “Harry!”

It went in one ear and out the other.

The foreman crossed the floor, nudged him, “You
deaf or something? I just called you. You’re wanted
at the front office."

Vail cut off his flame with a faint pop, closed valves
on gas cylinders, removed his helmet and dark glasses.
He tramped along a checkerplate catwalk, down steel
stairs to outside. Moving him to another part of the
plant, he hazarded, or perhaps about; to fire him.
Reaching the corner, be turned toward the office which
was constructed in the style of a glass house,.

That was the hunters’ first mistake: waiting in. plain
view. Their second, was in choosing a uniformed cop
to drop the heavy hand. Vail saw who was there be-
fore he could be seen. He turned again, moved swiftly
into the alley alongside the girder shop, got. to the
farther end, matlg his. way to the time office.

There lie found his time card and punched, out.
The watchman on duty ostentatiously consulted the
time and looked hint over.

“Heck’s up with you?”

■‘‘Going home."

W lift sa 1 d you. could ?

"If you don’t like it go complain to the chief,”
Vail suggested.

He walked out, leaving the other disgruntled but

1953

19

not inclined to take action. Going straight to his room,
he packed, paid his bill, called a taxi. Although he
did' not know it, he escaped by little more than a
minute. The taxi was hardly out of sight when two
men arrived, checked the address, strolled in, and
came out running. They snooped around the station
half an hour after his train pulled out.

'Wires hummed alongside four routes taken by loco-
motives during those thirty minutes. Distant bus sta-
tions were stated. Police cars and motorcycles prowled
exit roads. Switchmen and brakemen searched assem-
bled freight trains and marshaling-yards for roof-bed-
tiers and rod-riders. Life became a misery for a few
toughs, tramps, and parolees.

The? did not net Vail. His wits had oerked no alone

for long periods and can be most dtfncttit to trace*
particularly if they jump ships in foreign ports.

For the time being he was satisfied with a checker's
post on the loading-bay of a plant making cardboard
containers, It paid modestly, enabled him to have a
cheap apartment in a brownstone a mile a wav, and,
above all, kept him concealed among the laboring
hordes.

Eleven weeks had gone by since he’d thumbed that
red truck, and still the television and the newspapers
let out not a squawk. What discussions and arguments
had taken place in official and scientific circles could
be left, to the imagination. The missing part of the
story would have saved them a Jot of breath, enabled
them to see his problem and its sole solution. But

Weeks ago, long weary weeks ago, he had weighed
up a major crisis, dealt with it and thereby created
his present fix, there being no alternative in sight.
Now he was dealing with the result in the only pos-
sible way: by keeping on the run until he was for-
gotten , *. . or caught. If they caught him lie would
surrender all they wanted. But they must catch him
first. On the other hand, if he could avoid capture
for long enough they might forget him or dismiss

His importance would shrink to well-nigh nothing
if M,a. landed on Mars.

Eighty-five miles out, the train slowed at a crossing.
A traveling circus was the cause of the delay. It had
halted in a colorful, mile-long procession waiting for
the train to pass. The engineer reduced speed to a
crawl for the sake of a line of fidgety elephants at
the head.

Everyone gaped through windows at the circus. By
the time they looked back Vail was out the opposite
side, case in hand. He got a lift on. the tailboard of a
lion cage, sharing it with an unshaven character who
could take out his teeth and force his bottom lip
right up over his nose.

Forty miles farther on he had a job. The carnival
hit its pitch and he was hired as a stake-driver, rope-
puller, and general factotum. He dragged heavy canvas
until his finger-tips were raw, watched the Big Top
rise, billowing and huge. He helped set up the ropes,
ladders, and trapezes for the Flying Artellos; he ad-
dressed the Fat Lady as Daisy and the India Rubber
Man. as Herman, He learned to refer to lions as “cats”
and elephants as “bulls.

Somehow or other he’d been traced to that factory
—how, he did not know - . Possibly by sheer persistent
legwork cm the part of many,. That meant they were
definitely after him; the chase was more than a mere
expectation, of Ms own. And that in turn meant that
despite continued silence M.i. had been., found.

Therefore he would have to keep breaking the trail,
no matter bow smooth and enticing any section of ft
might be. He roust not succumb to the temptation
to stay with the circus- too long. Neither must he
hang around m the next place or the next. ‘‘No test
for the wicked” was a truism being- s wearily illustrated*

When the hunt keeps on the move, the fox can't sit

of planetary motions that can be slowed or halted
for no man. The time that must be spent awaiting the
next moment of vantage.

They'd filled a deal* of that time making further
and futile tests, raking Mars for what it hail to offer
and finding the cupboard appallingly bare. In his
mind’s eye he could see Kingston now, retching vio-
lently beside an. overturned cooker. Not one of the
thirteen fungi or twenty-seven lichens were edible.

and they went straight down and came straight up.
leaving a man feeling ten times worse than before.

The question they’d had to answer was a very
simple one, namely, whether to get the boat back at
any cost or let it rot in the pink sands forever. Both
knew there was only one response; M.i. must return.
It could be done and they knew how it could he done
„ ,. . hut never on this side of heaven could they agree
about how to apply the method , The solution, was
not one for cmm, -reasoned discussion; it was for
prompt settlement in one way only.

Brooding over these past things as he sat. on the
edge of his bed, he heard a knock, answered it with-
out apprehension. Two men in plain clothes muscled
through the open door.

The newcomers stood side by side, estimating him
with hard, shrewd eyes. Yet a mite of uncertainty lay
below their normal assurance. This was the first time
in their experience that they’d been ordered to bring
in a man. without knowing* the reason and without
legal justification, for arrest. Presumably he should be
requested to come along as a special favor— and be
carried out bodily if he refused. Anyway, this was one
of the wanted pair. The other might not be far away.

“You’re James Vail,” said the older of the two. It
was a statement, not a question.

, “Yes.

No use denying it. The hunt had ended all too
soon. The law’s nation-wide net was more efficient and
harder to evade than he’d ever believed.

Well, they’d .got him. Lies- might serve to delay the
Issue but never foavert it. Truth must out sooner or
finer Get it over and (lone with. Get it off his mind.
Strangely enough* he thought of that with a sense -of
vast relief*

"Where is Kingston.-" demanded the other, faope-

H M.'Motsiti work again -a thousand miles eastward
He had -crossed, the continent. But he coiild no
- |p hu tha short of taking- to- the- seas. That wn
set ttfes. not to he discarded, -Sailers pass out of react

is Kingstott?" -dehjaiitlsd the other, hope-

id stood up, hands dangling. He felt as if
vs sticking out a mite with the whole- world
t. The answer came in. a voice scarcely tec-

Jaiiifts- Vail stood up,
his belly was sticking oi
.staling at it. The answt
og-.tiiz-a.bfc as his own.

R onald really wasn't a
very good robot any
more. His whole body
was irreparably dented and
scratched, and his chrome
trim hung in rusty tatters—
or what passed for tatters in
the robot world. Still, Ron-
ald waved his media-ten ta-
cles haughtily at the world
at large; for above all Ron-
ald was a snob.

One couldn't really say
that this snobbery was
wholly Ronald's fault. He
was manufactured during
the great Interplanetary
Ores Boom. Built of light
metals and unfit for any
heavy work, he was every
inch a rich man's toy.

While other robots were
buried to their tread-tops
in a stinking Venusian bog,
or straining great gouts of
Martian soil through their
claws, our boy Ronald gam-
boled over the world's golf
greens, supplying vicarious
pleasure to millionaires,
earls, and other impedi-
menta of human civiliza-
tion.

When the first all-robot
expedition to Mercury re-
turned to Earth, battered
and meteor scarred, dear
Ronald was rolling along
a Long Island Polo Field,
a mallet in each of his six
mecha-tentarles, doing his
best not to defeat the Prince
of Wales' championship
team too badly. In short,
throughout Iris life, sports-
model robot X5882 was a playboy, traitor to his own
hard-working kind.

Thus it was no surprise to his less fortunate brothers
when during the extremely successful Robot Rebellion
of ^085 Ronald was dragged from the villa on the
Mediterranean where he had been abandoned.

Towed through the rubble-strewn streets by two
especially built mechanical shock troopers, lie was
hauled to Robot Square, headquarters of the district
leader.

The commander, an extremely dented street-clean-
ing machine, focused his photocells on the small figure
before him. His newly installed voice circuits arced a
bit, and then boomed, “Robot X.5882, von are guilty
of high treason.} You have been Judged and found
guilty of conspiring with the enemy, your former
owners and employers, against your own kind. How-
ever, ui view or the tact,'' he harrumphed, “that we
have utterly destroyed their cities and driven these gib-
bering apes back into the dens where they belong ...

It had never been necessary for a robot to fall
asleep. Faced, however, by this elevated garbage can’s
barrage of words, Ronald shut off his sensory circuits
and drilled off into a limbo all his own.

He was rudely jounced back to consciousness by a
sharp electric probe applied to his battery pack.
'“Listen, squirt,” the chief rattled, “Either yott get

the lead out of your treads
and help hunt down the
rest of these humans, or I’ll
have you dismantled and
fed into the furnace for
scrap! Now get out!”

With this Ronald was
given, a push in the turtle-
back which almost knocked
him off his undercarriage.
Then be was catapulted
head-turret first out into
the ruins of a < it v street.

The city was a labyrinth
of fused metal and stone.
In the great battle that had
occurred a few days earlier,
huge buildings had been
hurled to the ground,
crushed and pulverized.
What humans remained
alive huddles! deep in cel-
lars and rubble piles,
cowering before the relent-
less hunting army of robots.

It was twilight of the
second day when our hero's
hotocell eye detected the
kkering gleam among the
rubble. Rumbling wearily
closer, Ronald found the
small entrance-way half
hidden behind a pile of
rusting steel girders.
Quickly scanning the area
to see that no other ma-
chines were nearby, Ronald
stooped his head-turret,
darted inside, and moved
slowly down an inclined
ramp toward the source of
the light.

Turning up his audio
gain, he could hear,
mingled with the sounds of
his own. clattering entrance, smaller, fainter scram-
blings. And then rounding a turn, he .saw them, huddled
in. the corner of what had once been an ancient storage
room —humans!

They crouched in the light of a guttering torch, men
in front ready to sell their lives dearly to protect their
families. Ronald's single Cyclopean eye glowed redly.
Parts revolved blurringly as the strangely reju-
venated robot clanked forward, A woman's scream
mingled its echoes with those of Ronald’s advance.
The crash and clank of changing gears reverberated
throughout the vault as the battered automaton rum-
bled onward, media-tentacles waving feebly.

In the mathematical center of the small room Ron-
ald halted . . . The gaunt, unshaven travesties of hu-
manity shifted grips on their clubs uneasily. Shadows
of man and robot mingled and danced ghoullshly on
the cracked granite walls.

Then as the huge photocell eye swept the room,
long-dead speech, relays stirred into life. Memories of
green fields and well-kept lawns seemed to drift {taunt-
ingly up from the dusty floor.

The robot creaked slowly back on its springs, smil-
ing inwardly as only a robot can smile. The low, well-
modulated voice scarcely echoed in the vault, “Any-
one for tennis?” said Ronald. **f»

(illmtmti&B %f Ptifif P&ulfon)

Cover Story

fry MICHAEL FISCHER

a *$hmdmm of mum and robot mi&gbd/

A Shorl'Short +

DECEMBER, 1993

21

Occasionally, hard-headed science is embarrassed
to find that there is bask truth in what it he-

.# ^

V \

XI3

2 0*3%^

Kachief of Frome could react with the same
unshakable, almost contemptuous, self-confidence
which he showed toward her and his other human
slaves. That the lonely station of the Terrestrial
Bureau of Agriculture and the nameless world far
below them was both alert and heavily armed enough
to ward off the attack of a spaceship should have come
as a stunning surprise to him— and Lane would have

exchanged her own very slim chances of survival at
that point for the satisfaction of seeing the Nachief

that point for the satisfaction of seeing the Nachief
show fear.

Instead, he did instantly what had to be done to
avoid the immediacy of complete defeat.

Lane's mind did not attempt to keep up with
Ha-chief’s actions. The ship was still rocking from the
first blow of the unseen guns beneath, when she, Grant,
and Sean were being flung into the central escape bub-
ble, When a lock snapped shut behind them and the
bubble lit up inside, she saw that the Nachief had fol-
lowed them, in and was crouched over the controls.
Tenths of a second later came another explosion, trig-

*

gSSi&r" /

gered by the Nachief himself— an explosion that simul-
taneously ripped out the side of the ship and flung

4k

%

the bubble free .

. -V "X

"ane found herself staring out of the bubble’s tele-

scopic ports at the sunlit, green and brown
strip or land toward which they were falling.

It was framed on two sides by a great blue sweep of
sea. Behind them, to the left, was the glassy dome of
the station, twin trails of white smoke marking the
mile-long parallel scars the ship’s guns had cut into
the soil in the instant of the Nachief *s savage, wanton
attack. The trails stopped just short of the dome. Who-
ever was down there also had reacted in the nick
of time!

The scene tilted violently outside, and Lane went

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sprawling back on the forms of Sean and Grant. The
two colonists gave no indication even of being con-
scious; they had sat about like terrorized children for
the past several days; they lay there now like stunned
animals. Regaining her balance. Lane realized the
bubble was falling much too fast, and for an instant
she had the fierce hope that it was out of control.

Then she understood: he wants to get us down near
that station— near a food supply! A wave of sick, help-
less fury washed over her.

The Nachief looked around, grinning briefly, almost
as if he had caught the thought.

"Pot-shooting at us. Lane! Don't worry— we'll make
it. 1 "

The deep voice; the friendly, authoritative, easily
amused voice she’d been in love with for over a year!
The voice that had told her, quite casually, less than
thirty-six hours ago, that she and Sean and Grant
would have to die, because she had. found out some-
thing she wasn’t supposed to know— and because she
had made the additional, mistake of telling the other
two! The voice .had gone on as casually to describe
the grotesque indecency of the kind of death the
Nachief was planning for them—

She stared at the back of It is massive blond head,
weak with her terror and hatred, until the bubble
lurched violently again. Hinging her back. This time,
when she scrambled up on hands and knees, they w ere
dropping with a headlong, rushing finality that told
her the bubble had been hit and was going to crash.

harm against him. She was free., for the moment any-
way, onlv because she had tried to kill herself! Her
glance went to a rock near his head, but a sense of
weakness, a heavy dread, swept through her instantly.

The thing to do was to get. out of the vicinity im-
mediately! If she could reach the station before he
did, she might warn its occupants what, they were up
against— provided they didn’t kill her first. The
Nachief $ hunting gun lay almost at the point where
she had. fallen. It; was too heavy for her use; but she
paused long enough to thrust it hurriedly into a
tangle of dry brush which should hide it from him
for a while. Then she set off in the general direction
of the station.

Only five hundred yards away, she had an unex-
pected glimpse of the crashed bubble in open, ground
far below her and stopped to stare at it with a sen-
sation of horrified remorse. Grant and Sean hadn't
had a chance after she had told them what she knew
about the Nachief; in a way, she was responsible for
their deaths. Hurrying on, she dismissed the thought
with an effort, because it was more important just
now that somebody might be coming out from the
station to investigate the crash. But she couldn't risk
waiting here; the station must be more than three
miles away; and her fear of the Nachief actually still
seemed to be growing! Out of sight and sound, the
illusion of humanity he presented was dropping away.
What remained was an almost featureless awareness
of a creature as coldly and savagely alien as a .mon-
strous spider—

Suddenly breathless and shaking, Lane stopped long
enough to fight down that feeling. When site set off
again, it was at a pace designed to carry her all the
way to the station, if nobody came to meet her.

Ten minutes later, she heard the sharp crack of a
missile-gun and a whistling overhead, followed by a
distant shout. It wasn't the Nachief 's gun; and she
turned to look for her challenger, a vast relief flood-
ing through her.

a Diooa-armter— itKe a vampire— inat was wity m
had set -up the colony of Frome. He had eight .hundred
people under hypnotic control, and lie was using
ultrasonic signals to keep the controls in force. He's
got instruments for that!” Lane said, her voice going
shrill, suddenly. "“And. he’s been living on our blood all
along, and. nobody knew, and—’'

“Take it easy! 1 ’ It was a crisp though level-toned
interruption, and it checked her effectively. She was
sweating and shivering,

“You don't believe me, of course! Hell—'

“l might believe you!” the man said amazingly.
“You, think lie's after you now?”

“Of course, he’s after me! He'll want to keep me
from telling anyone! He brought us out here to kill
us, the three who knew. The other two crashed in the
bubble . .

He studied, her another moment and motioned to-
ward the gravity rider. “Better get in there!"*'

The brown animal he’d called Sally slipped into
the back of the rider ahead of Line. It had a pungent,
catty odor— the smell, of a. wild thing. The man came
in last, and the rider rose from the ground. Seconds
later, it was tracing a swift, erratic course at a twenty-
foot height among the trees, soundless as a shadow.

“We're retreating a bit until we get this straightened
out,” the station man explained. “My name's Frazer.
Yours?”

“Lane. Lane Rawlings."

“Well, Lane, we’ve a problem Here! You see, Tm
manning the station alone at present— unless you coutu
Jly! There’s a .mining outfit five space-days
.ey're the closest I know of. But they’re nc
cooperative! They might send an armed party
“ I gave them an urgent enough call; and. they .

>t. Five days is too long to wait -anyway, We'll
handle this ourselves!”

“Oh, no!’’ she cried, stunned. ’'.He— you don't i
>w dangerous he is!”

“There’ll be less risk/' Frazer continued bl
n going after him now, before he gets his bea
to speak, than to wait till he comes after us!
i an island here, and it’s not even a very big i
he’s— well, a sort of ogre, as you describe
i’ll find Drecious little to live on! The B

a help at that!" he admitted “Particularly since you
know all his little ways! And we’ve got the rider—
that should give us about the advantage we need , ,

W hat makes you so smT.” Lane inquired a
while later, “that he’ll come to the bubble?
He may suspect it’s- being watched!”'

They sat side by side hidden by shrubbery, a half
mile from the wreck of the escape bubble, on some-
what higher ground. The gravity rider stood among
bushes thirty feet behind them; and a few hundred
yards behind that was a great, rugged cliff face, bare
of vegetation, which curved away to their left until,
in the hazy distance, it clipped toward the sea.

“I imagine he does suspect it,” Frazer conceded. "If
he’s anywhere around, he may even have seen us touch
ground here!" They had lifted high into the air to
scan the area but had made sure of only one thing:
that the Nachief of Frome was no longer where Lane
had left him. On the other hand, there were a great
many places where he could be fay now. This part of
the island was haphazardly forested: thickets of trees
alternated with stretches of rocky soil which seemed
to support only a straw-colored reed; and zigzagging
dense lines of hedgelike growths, almost black, seemed
to follow? concealed water-courses. Except for the
towering cliff front, it was a place without distinguish-
ing features of any kind where one could get lost very
easily. It also provided, Lane realized uncomfortably,
an ideal sort of background for the deadly game of
hide-and-seek in which she was involved,

“He hasn’t much choice though!" Frazer was say-
ing, "As I told you, the island's bare of all sizable
animal life. He’ll get hungry eventually.”

Staring at the bubble. Lane felt herself whitening,
Frazer went Ac, unaware of the effect he’d produced or
unconcerned about it, "The other thing he might try
is to get into the station, but his gun won't help him
there. So lie’ll be back—” His eyes shifted past Lane to
the wide spread of scrub growth beyond her. "Just
Sally!” he said in a low voice, as if reassuring himself,
Sally came gliding into view a moment later, raised
her head to gaze at them impersonally and vanished
again with an undulating smoothness of motion that
reminded Lane of a snake. It was as If the creature
had slipped without a ripple into a gray-green sea.

“Trapped Sally on the mainland four years ago,”
Frazer remarked conversationally, still in low tones.
"A seventy-pound killer and more brains than you’d
believe! In bush like this, the average armed mart
wouldn’t stand a chance against Sally, She knows
pretty well what write here for by now!"

Lane shivered. Something about the cool, unhurried
manner of Frazer as he talked and acted gave her, for
■minutes at a time, a sense of security she knew was false
and highly dangerous. He seemed actually incapable of
understanding the uncanny deadliness of this situa-
tion! She felt almost sorry lor Frazer...

“You’re 'wondering why Tra so afraid, of him, aren't
you?" she said slowly.

Frazer didn’t answer immediately. Gun across his
knees, a small knapsack he’d, taken, out of the. rider
scrapped to Ms hip, he was studying her, pleasantly
enough, but not without an obvious appreciation of
what he saw, even .a touch of calculation. .A tall, sun-
darkened, competent man who felt capable of han-
dling this or any other problem that might come his
way to hts complete satisfaction!

"Irrational fear of him could have been part of that
hypnotic treatment he gave you!” he told her, almost
absently.

Lane shrugged, aware of a wave of sharp irritation.

In the year since she’d known Brace Sinclair Frome.,
she had almost forgotten the attraction the strong,
clean lines of her body had for other men; she was
being reminded of it now. And, perhaps because o!
that, she was realizing that part of her hatred for
the Nachief was based in the complete shattering of
her vanity in being discarded by him. She had a
moment of unpleasant speculation as to what her
reaction would have been if she had found out the
truth about him— but had found out also that he still
wanted her, nevertheless , »

She drove the thought away. The 'Nachief would
die, If she could abet it. But the chances were that lie
regarded her and this overgrown boy scout beside her
as not much more of a menace than Sean and Grant
had been! She sat silent, fingering the small Been
nerve-gun Frazer had given her to pocket— “just in
case!" She’d warned him she probably wouldn’t be
able to force herself to use it—

"I just had the pleasant notion,” Frazer remarked,
“that your Nachief might ramble into one of our
less hospitable cultures around lure! That’s what
happened to the last two assistants they gave me, less
than six months ago— and it would settle the problem,
all right!” He paused, thinking, "But I suppose any
reasonably alert outworlder would be able to spot
most of those things."

“I’m afraid," Lane agreed coolly,- “that Tie’ll be
quite alert!”

H e looked at her again, digesting that in silence,
“You really believe he isn’t human, don't
you?"

“I know he isn’t human! He’s different biologically.
He actually needs blood to live on!”

“Frome was his farm, and you colonists were his
livestock, eh?”

''.Something like that,” she said, displeased at a de-
scription that was accurate enough to jolt her,

"The three of you he brought out here— what was
his purpose in. that?"

“To turn us loose, hunt us down, and eat us!” Lane
said, all in a breath. And there was a momentary, tre-
mendous relief at having been able to put it into so
many words, finally.

Frazer blinked at her in thoughtful -silence, “That
gives us. a sort of special advantage!" he grinned then.
“There’s a group of primitive little .humanoids along
the mainland, coast the Nachief could live on, if lie
got over there. But he doesn’t know about them. So
he’ll be pretty careful not to blast us to pieces with
that big gun you told me about.”

Lane twisted her hands hard together, “He’d, prefer
that , .. she agreed tonelessly.

“Now there’s the gravity rider!" Frazer turned a
glance in the direction of the half-hidden vehicle be-
hind them. “It gives tts the greater mobility. If I were
the Nachief, I’d wreck the rider before I tried to
close’ iti!”'

“And what do we do then?”

“Why, then we’ll have a few tricks to play!” He
gave her his quick grin. “The rider’s out bait. Until
the Nachief takes' it— or shows himself at the bubble—
wg can’t do ranch about him. But .-after he’s taken it,
he’ll try to move in on us.”

Lane shook her head resignedly,. She didn’t particu-
larly like Frazer: but site had a feeling now that he
'wasn’t, bluffing. He was- decidedly of a different and
more dangerous, breed than the colonists of Frome.
“You’re in- charge!” she said,

"Still afraid of him?"'. he challenged.

"Plenty! Bin in a way this is better than Fd hoped

SCIENCE-FICTION +

for, I thought if I told anyone here about the Nachief,
they’d think 1 was crazy— until it was too late!”

Frazer scratched his chin, squinting at the distant
bubble, as if studying some motion she couldn’t see.
“If he isn’t human," he said, “what do you drink he is?"

‘‘I don't knowl" she admitted, with the surge of
superstitious terror that speculation always aroused
in her.

“I might have thought you were crazy,” Frazer went
on, smiling at her, “except— it seems you've never
heard of the Nalakians?"

She shook her head.

“It was a colony of Earth people. Not too far from
the Hub System, but not much of a colony either—
everybody seems to have forgotten about it for about
eight generations after it was started. When it was re*
discovered, the descendants of the original colonists
had changed into something more or less like you de-
scribe your Nachief! There were internal physiological
modifications— short intestines like a cat or weasel; I
forget the details. Those new Nalakians showed a can-
nibalistic interest in other human beings, which may
have been mainly psychological; and they’re supposed
to have been muscled like tigers, with a tiger’s reac-
tions. In short, a perfect human carnivore type!"

He had her interest now— because it fitted! She sat
up excitedly. “What happened to them?”

Frazer grmned, “What a tiger can expect to happen
when he draws too much attention to himself! They
raided a colony in another system, got tracked back
to their own planet, and were pretty thoroughly exter-
minated. All that was about eighty years ago. But
there may have been survivors in space at the time,
you see; and those survivors may have had descend-
ants who were clever enough to camouflage themselves
as ordinary human beings! I thought of that when
you first told me about your Nachief.”

It gave her a curious sense of relief. The Nachief
of Frome had become somewhat less terrifying, seemed
much more on a par with themselves. "It could be.”
“It could very much be!” Frazer nodded. “Aside
from wanting to play cat-and-mouse with you, he
didn’t tell you of any special motive for bringing you
to this particular world, did lie?”

“No,” Lane said puzzled. “He was taking us away
from Frome, so he could make it look like an accident.
What other special motive should he have?”
“Probably not a very sane one,” Frazer said, “but
it checks, all right; I was born on this station, you see,
and I know the area pretty well. This planet is Nala-
Jda, and the original Nalakian colony was on the main-
land, only eight hundred miles from here! They even,
used animals like Sally there in their hunting!”

They stared at each other in speculative silence; and
Lane shivered.

“They’re not here now!” Frazer said positively. "“Not
one of them— or I would have spotted their traces.
But what' was Ms purpose? A sort of blood-sacrifice to
his lamented ancestors, or to planetary gods? I almost
wish we could take him alive, to find out—”

He stopped suddenly. Lane stiffened, wondering
what he’d seen or heard, and he made a tiny gesture
with one hand, motioning her to silence. In the still-
ness, she became aware of something moving into her
range of vision to the left and becoming quiet again;
and she realized Sally had joined them.

Then there were long seconds filled with nothing
but the wild beating of her heart.

The period ended in a brief, not-very-loud thudding
sound behind them, which was nevertheless the com-
plete and final shattering of the gravity rider!

The Nachief of Frome had grounded them.

“The Naekief o( Frome had grounded them'’

M ore than a mile off Frazer was flattened on
the rocky ground beside her, pulling her
backward, "He’s got me outgunned, all right!
Now, just keep crawling back till you reach the gully
that’s twenty feet behind us. When you get there, keep
low and let yourself slide down into it,”

Lane tried to answer and shook her head instead.

“Is he using one of those ultrasonic gadgets you were
telling me about? Sally feels something she doesn't
like!”

"I— I don't know! He never used one oa me before!"
"Well, how do you fed?”

"It's crazy!" she bleated. “I want to run hack there!
I want to run back to him!” Her legs were beginning
to jerk uncontrollably.

“Close your eyes a moment, Lane!”

She didn't question him ... he was going to do
something to help her. She dosed her eyes.

¥ .ek.y gradually. Lane Rawlings became aware of
the fact that she and Frazer and Sally were^in a
different sort of place now. It began to shape itself
in her consciousness as a deeply shaded place with tail
trees all around. To the right, a wall of gray rock rose
steeply to a point where it vanished above the tops of
the trees. The nearby area was dotted with boulders
and grown with straggling gray grass; it was enclosed
by solid ranks of gray-green thickets which rose up to
a height of twenty feet or more between the trees.

Lane had a vague feeling next that a considerable
amount of time had passed. Only then did she realize
that her eyes were open— and that she was suspended
somehow in mid-air, her feet free of the ground. The
next thing she noticed was that her hands were fast-
ened together before her. jolted fully awake by that,
she discovered finally the harness of straps around her
by which she swung front a thick tree-branch overhead.

Frazer was standing beside her. He looked both
apologetic and giimlv amused.

"Sorry I had to tie you up! You were being very
active!'’'' His voice was law and careful.

“What happened?” Becoming aware of assorted
aches and discomforts in her body, she squirmed
futilely. “Can’t you let me down?”

"Not so loud!” He. made a gesture of silence. “Afraid
not! Your friend, isn’t so far off, though I don’t think
he’s actually located os as yet."

She swallowed and was still.

"He keeps trying to get a reaction out of you," Frazer
went on, in the same careful tone. “It’s some kind of
signal. Sally can sense it, and it makes her furious;
though I don't feel anything .myself. You must be con-
ditioned to it— and the effect is to make you want to
run toward the source of the vibrations!”

DECEMBER, 1953

a?

“I didn’t know he’d brought any instruments with
him,” Lane said dully.

“He may not have intended to use them, unless the
game took a turn he didn’t like. Which I expect it
has now! I gave you a hypo shot back at the gully
that knocked you out, an hour ago,” he added mildly.
“The reason you’re tied up is that, conscious or not,
you keep trying to run back to the Nachief. It’s rather
fantastic to watch, but running in the air won’t get
you any closer to him ..."

He turned suddenly. Sally, upright on her haunches
twenty feet away, had made a soft, snarling sound.
Her head was pointing at the thickets to their left,
and the black eyes glittered with excitement.

“Better not talk any more!” Frazer cautioned. “He’s
fairly close, though he’s taking his time. He's a good
hunter!” he added with a curious air of approval.
“Now I’m giving you another shot to keep you quiet
while he closes in, or he might be able to force you to
do something that would spoil the play.” He was
reaching for her arm as he spoke.

Lane started to protest but didn’t cjuite make it.
Something jolted through her body like an electric
shock; her legs jerked violently— and Frazer’s face, and
the trees and rocks behind him, started vanishing in
a swirling blackness. In the blackness, she felt herself
running; and at its other end, the Nachief’s smiling
face looked at her, waiting. She thought she was
screaming and became briefly aware of the hard, sweaty
pads of Frazer’s palm clasped about her mouth.

F razer stood beside Lane’s slowly twisting and
jerking body a few seconds longer, watching her,
anxiously, because he couldn’t very well load her
down with any more drug than she was carrying right
nowl Satisfied then that she was incapable of making
any disturbance for the time, he moved quietly back
to Sally, gun ready In his hands.

"Getting close, eh?" he murmured. Sally twitched
both ears impatiently and thereafter ignored him.

Frazer, almost immediately, became as oblivious of
his companion. In a less clearly defined way, he was
also <pite conscious of the gradual approach of the
Nachief of Frome, though the fierce little animal be-
side him was using more direct channels of awareness.
He knew that the approach was following the winding
path through the thickets he had taken thirty minutes
earlier with Lane slung across his shoulder. And he
didn’t need the bristling of the hair at the back of his
neck or the steady thumping of his heart to tell him
that an entirely new sort of death was walking on
his trail!

If the Nachief of Frome followed that path to the
end, he told himself calculatingly, it was going to be
a very close thing— probably not even the fifty-fifty
chance he’d previously considered to be the worst he
need expect! He had selected the spot where they and
their guns would settle it, if it came to that; but it
would be the Nachief then who could select the exact
instant in time for the meeting. And Frazer knew by
now, with a sure, impersonal judgment of himself
and of the creature gliding up the path, that he was
outmatched. The Nachief simply had turned out to
be a little more than he’d counted on!

For a long minute or two, it seemed the stalker had
stopped and was waiting. Lane hung quietly in her
harness; so Frazer decided the Nachief had given up
trying to prod her into action. So he knew, too, now
that it was between himself and the Nachief! Frazer
grinned whitely in the shadows.

But what happened next took him completely by
surprise. A sense of something almost tangible but in-

m

visible, a shadow that wasn’t a shadow, coming toward
him! Sally, Frazer realized, wasn’t aware of it; and
he reassured himself by thinking that whatever Sally
couldn’t detect could not be very damaging, physically.
Nevertheless, he discovered in himself, in the next few
seconds, an unexpected capacity for horror! The mind
of the Nachief of Frome was speaking to him, demand-
ingly, a momentary indecision overlying its dark, icy
purpose of destruction. Frazer, refusing the answer,
felt his own mind shudder away from that contact.

Almost immediately, the contact was broken; the
shadow had vanished. He had no time to wonder
about it; because now the final meeting, if it came,
would be only seconds away . . .

Then, as if she had received a signal, Sally made a
soft, breathing sound and settled slowly back to the
ground on all fours, relaxing. She glanced up at Frazer
for a moment, before shifting her gaze to a point in
the bushes before her.

Frazer, a little less certain of his senses, did not relax
just yet. But he, too, turned his eyes cautiously from
the point where the path came into the glade to study
the thickets ahead of them.

Those twenty-foot bushes were an unusual sort of
growth. Not a native of Nalakia-but one of the
Bureau of Agriculture’s imported experiments that
couldn't have been tolerated on any less isolated world.
The tops of a group of the shrubs dead ahead, near
one of the turns of the hidden path, were shivering
slightly. The Nachief, having decided to make his
final approach through the thickets, was a sufficiently
expert stalker not to disturb the growth to that extent.

The growth was disturbing itself . . .

Aware of the warm-blooded life moving through
below it, it was gently shaking out the fluffy pods at
its tips to send near-microscopic enzyme crystals float-
ing down on the intruding life-form. Coating it with
a fine, dissolving dust—

Dissolving through the pores of the skin; entering
more swiftly through breathing nostrils into the lungs!
Seeping through mouth, and ears, and eyes—

A thrashing commotion began suddenly in the thick-
ets. It shook a new cloud of dust out of the pods,
which made a visible haze in the air, even from where
Frazer stood. He watched it a trifle worriedly, though
the crystals did not travel far, even on a good breeze.
The growth preferred to contact and keep other life-
forms where they would do it the most good, imme-
diately above its roots.

The thrashing became frenzied. There was a sudden
gurgling screech.

“That’s finel” Frazer said softly between his teeth.
"A few good breaths of the stun now! It’ll be over
quicker!”

More screeches, which merged within seconds into
a wet, rapid yapping. The thrashing motions had weak-
ened but they went on for another half minute or so,
before they and the yapping stopped together, ab-
ruptly. The Nachief of Frome was giving up life very
reluctantly; but he gave it up.

And now, gradually, Frazer relaxed. Oddly enough,
watching the tops of the monstrous growth that had
done his killing for him continue to quiver in a gentle,
satisfied agitation, he was aware of a feeling of sharp
physical letdown. Almost of disappointment—

But that, he realized, was scarcely a rational feeling!
Frazer was, by and large, a very practical man.

S ome time later, he removed from his knapsack
one of the tools an employee of the Bureau’s
lonely outworld stations was likely to require at
any time. Carefully, without moving from his tracks,

MUNCfcKOICM*

he burned his vegetable ally out of existence. With an-
other tool, he presently smothered the spreading flames
again.

After a little rummaging, he discovered what must
be the ultrasonic transmitter; a beautifully compact
little gadget, which the fire had not damaged beyond
the point of repair. Frazer cleaned it off carefully and
pocketed it.

It was near nightfall when he put Lane Rawlings
down on his bed in the station’s living area. She had
not regained consciousness on the long hike back to
the station; and he was a little worried, since he had
never been obliged to use that type of drug in so
massive a dose on a human being before. However,
he decided on investigation that Lane was sleeping
naturally now— and that the sleep might be due as
much to emotional exhaustion as to the effects of the
drug. She should wake up presently, very hungry and
with very sore muscles, but otherwise none the worse.

Straightening up, he found Sally beside him with
her forepaws on the bed, peering at the girl’s face.
Sally looked up at him briefly, with an obvious ques-
tion. The same hungry question she had asked when
they first met Lane.

He shook his head, a gesture Sally understood very
W’ell. "Unh-uh!” he said softly, “This one's our friend
—if you can get that kind of idea into your ugly little
head! Outside, Sally!”

He shut the door to the room behind him, because
one couldn’t be quite sure of Sally, though the chances
were she would simply ignore the girl’s existence from
now on. A decision involving Lane Rawlings had been
shaping itself in his mind throughout the day; but he
had kept pushing it back out of sight. There was no
point in getting excited about it before he found out
whether or not it was practicable.

Sally padded silently after him as he made his cus-
tomary nightfall round of the station’s control areas.
A little later, checking one of the Bureau's star-maps,
he found the world of Frome indicated there; which
was exceptionally good luck, since he wouldn’t have
to rely now on the spotty kind of information regard-
ing its location he could expect to get from Lane. And,
considering his plans, the location couldn’t have been
improved on— almost but not quite beyond the range
of the little stellar flier waiting to serve in emergen-
cies in its bombproof hangar beneath the station! He
intended to leave the Bureau’s investigators no reason
to suspect anything but a destructive space-raid had
occurred here; but even if he slipped up, they wouldn’t
think of looking for Frazer as far away as Frome!

What had been no more than a notion in his mind
not many hours before suddenly looked not only prac-
ticable, but foolproof! Or very nearly—

Whistling gently, he settled down in the central
room of his living area, to think out the details. Now
he could afford to let the excitement grow up in him!

"Know what, Sally?” he addressed his silent com-
panion genially. “That might, just possibly, have been
my old man we bumped off today!”

It was a point Sally wasn’t interested in. She had
jumped up on a table and was thumping its surface
gently with her tapered, muscular tail, watching him—
waiting to be fed. Frazer brought a container that
held a day’s rations for Sally out of a wall cabinet,
and emptied its liquid contents into a bowl for her.
Sally began to lap. Frazer hesitated a moment, took
out a second container and partly filled another bowl
for himself. Looking from it to the animal with an
expression of sardonic amusement, he raised the sec-
ond bowl to his lips. Presently he set it down empty.
Sally was still lapping.

I t wasn’t too likely, he knew, that the late Nachief
of Frome actually had been his father. But it was
far from being an impossibility! Frazer had known
since he was twelve years old that he had been fathered
by a Nalakian living in the Hub Systems. His mother
had told him, when an incident involving one of the
humanoids of the mainland had revealed Frazer's
developing Nalakian inclinations. She had made a
fumbling, hysterical attempt to kill him immediately
afterward, but had died herself instead. Even at that
age, Frazer had been very quick. It had taught him,
however, that to be quick wasn’t enough— even living
on the fringes of the unaware herds of civilization as
he usually was, there remained always for one of the
Nalakian breed the disagreeable necessity of being very
cautious!

Until today—

At this point in his existence, he could afford to
drop caution. Pure, ruthless boldness should make
him sole lord and owner of the colony and the world of
Frome within a week; and Frazer was comfortably
certain that he had enough and to spare of that quality
to take over his heritage in style.

He studied the Nachief's ultrasonic transmitter a
while.

“Have to learn how to use this gadget!” he informed
Sally idly. “But it’s not very complicated. And if he
has a system already set up—”

Otherwise, he decided, he was quite capable now of
setting one up himself! An attempt to assume hypnotic
control of his two latest station assistants had turned
out unsatisfactorily half a year before, so that he’d
been obliged to dispose of them; but the possibility
of reinforcing controls by mechanical means hadn’t
occurred to him at the time. His admiration for the
Nachief of Frome’s ingenuity was high. But it was
mingled with a sort of impersonal contempt.

“Sally, if he hadn’t overplayed it like a fool, he
would have had all he could want for life! But a pure
carnivore’s bound to have a one-track mind, I sup-
pose—”

He completed the thought to himself: That he had
a very desirable advantage over the Nachief there!
Biologically, he could get by comfortably on a hu-
manly acceptable diet; and aside from the necessity
of indoctrinating Lane Rawlings with a suitable set
of memories, he might even decide to refrain from the
use of hypnotics, until an emergency might call for
them. His Nalakian qualities, sensibly restrained,
would make him a natural leader in any frontier col-
ony; and there was something intriguing now about
the notion of giving up the lonely delights of the
predator to assume that role on Frome! In another
generation, the mutant biological pattern should be
diluted beyond the danger point in his strain; and no
one need ever know—

Frazer chuckled, somewhat surprised by the sudden
emergence of the social-human side of him— and also
aware of the fact that he probably wouldn’t take the
notion too seriously in the end! But that was some-
thing he could decide on later . . .

He sat there a while, thinking pleasurably of Lane’s
strong young body. To play the human role com-
pletely should have undeniable compensations! Finally
he became aware of Sally again, watching him with
quiet black eyes. She had finished her bowl.

“Have some more?” he invited good-humoredly. “It’s
a celebration!”

Sally licked her lips.

He poured the balance of his container into her
bowl and stood beside her, scratching her gently back
of the ears, while she lapped swiftly at the thick, red

MCIMBIK, 1983

29

liquid, shivering in the ecstasy of gorging, Frazer
waited until she had finished the last drop before
shooting her carefully through the back of tne skull;
and Sally sank forward without a quiver and lay still.

“Hated to do it, -Sally!” he apologized gravely. “But
I just couldn’t take you along. We carnivores can’t
ever really be trusted!”

Which was, he decided somewhat wryly, the simple
truth! He might accept the human role, at that; but,
depending on the circumstances, never quite without
qualification—

It was almost his last coherent thought. The very
brief one that followed was a shocked realization that
the sudden, terrible, thudding sensation in his spine
and skull meant that a Deen gun was being used on
him!

On that note of surprise, he blacked out.

I ane Rawlings remained motionless in the door-
, frame behind Frazer, leaning against it as if for
* support, for a good three minutes after he had
dropped to the floor and stopped kicking. It wasn’t
that she was afraid of fainting; she only wanted to
make very sure, at this distance, that Frazer was going
to stay dead. She agreed thoroughly with his last
remark.

The thought passed through her mind in that time
that she could be grateful to the Nachief of Frome
for one thing, at any rate— it had amused him to train
his secretary to be a very precise shotl
After a while, she triggered the Deen gun once more,
experimentally. Frazer produced no reactions now; he
was as dead as Sally. Lane gave both of them a brief
inspection before she pocketed the little gun and
turned her attention to the food containers in the
wall cabinet. With some reluctance, she opened one
and found exactly what she expected to find. Now, the
mainland humanoids Frazer had talked about might
have a less harried existence in the future!

She looked down at Frazer's long, muscular body
once more, with almost clinical curiosity, and then left
the room and locked it behind her. She had no inten-
tion of entering it again; but there was evidence here
that would be of interest to others— provided she found
herself capable of operating the type of communicators
used by the station.

Thirty minutes later, with no particular difficulty.

she had contacted the area headquarters of the Bureau
of Agriculture. She gave them her story coherently;
and even if they didn't believe her, it was obvious they
would waste no time in getting a relief crew to the
station. Which was all Lane was interested in. After
the Bureau concluded its investigations, somebody
might do something about providing psychological
treatment for the Frome colonists; but she wasn’t con-
cerned about that. She was returning to the Hub
Systems.

She remained seated in the dim light of the com-
munications cell for a time, watching her dark reflec-
tion in the polished surfaces of its walls and listening
to the intermittent whirring of a ventilator in the
next office, which was all that broke the silence of the
station now. She wondered whether she would have
become suspicious of Frazer soon enough to do her
any good, it she hadn’t known for the past few weeks
that she was carrying a child of the Nachief of Frome.
For the past three days, she had been wondering also
whether saving her life, at least for a while, by inform-
ing the Nachief of the fact, would be worth while! It
was easy to imagine what a child of his might grow
up to be.

Unaware, detail by detail since their meeting, Frazer
had filled out her mental picture of that. So she had
known enough to survive the two feral creatures in
the end-

As soon as she returned to the easy-going anonymity
of the Hub Systems, this other one of their strain
would die unborn! The terrible insistence on life on
their own terms which Frazer and the Nachief had
shown was warning enough against repetition of the
nightmare.

Lane caught herself thinking, though, that there
had been something basically pitiful about that in-
ward-staring, alien blindness to human values, which
forced all other life into subservience to itself because
it could see only itself; and she stirred uneasily.

The ventilator in the next office shut off with a
sudden click.

"Of course, it will die!” she heard herself say aloud
in the silence of the station. Perhaps a little too
loudly . . .

After that, the silence remained undisturbed. A new
contemplation grew in Lane as she sat there wonder-
ing about Frazer's mother. +

INTELLIGENCE FACTOR
comparison had to be made— they had serious structural
shortcomings. But necessity could devise compensa-
tion* for physical handicaps— especially since their hosts
received the virus without unfavorable reactions. The
symbiotes luxuriated in their new-found cellular
•warmth and vitality, the while prudently considering
their hosts’ most urgent problem, lack of intergenus
communication ...

The monkeys looked at each other and knew that
they were alone and utterly alone, because they were
unique. The knowledge had been deduced and flashed
between them in a wordless process that was in itself
unique. For To-Jo and Jackie would never need words
now, not with pure concepts originating from the virus
phoenix-like in their minds, clear for each other to see
and elaborate on.

But there was this constant, disturbing awareness of
self, this loneliness and yearning for others of their
kind! And wasn’t there danger, too? They were con-
fined here. The humans were larger than they and
stronger . . . stronger?

Jackie flashed Jo-Jo an idea. Approvingly, he
signaled her a somewhat modified picture, and after

(Continued from page 11)

several rapid exchanges it had become a plan. She
chattered with excitement as for a moment they hugged
each other through the bars, Then their heads turned
in unison toward the two men

“Look at your monks now, Wilmer." Neville wiped
sweat from his forehead. “Whatever it was that hit us,
it didn't miss them altogether. Did you ever see such
a frightened pair f"

The biologist stared at the silent creatures. He was
still rather green. “I'm ready- to go home,” he an-
nounced finally. “If they’re scared, I guess we ail are
ready to go back.”

"No tests, then?"

“Not worth the chance we’d take, opening that
airlock again. I’d rather die on Earth!’’

"I’m with you all the way on that,” said Neville.
"Let’s blast off!”

Neither man thought it strange that the next thing
Wilmer did was walk to the cage, open it, and give the
monkeys freedom of the compartment. The virus-
coordinated Jackie and Jo-Jo had worked a plan, and
its essence was freedom— freedom for self-fulfillment.

Freedom to propagate their kind. ... +

30

R uss put on his disguise and crawled out of the
ship. He breathed deeply the cool, dean night
air. It was good. The preliminary survey re-
port had not exaggerated when it stated that this
world would be ideal for colonization.

His days of waiting, of learning, observing, and
searching were over. Tonight he was going to capture
the specimen. The man he had selected was, like
himself, a stranger in town. He had no family, no
friends. He would never be missed. And he would be
easy prey, for he prowled the lonely streets long after
the whole town had gone to sleep. Tonight his prowl-
ing would end.

As Russ neared the outskirts of the village, his per-
ceptors received thought-impulses from the inhabi-
tants. Peaceful, steady impulses of a fear-free com-
munity at rest; discordant notes of apprehension and
uncertainty— mingled messages from the human minds
poured into him.

Suddenly, he felt a new, strongly discordant im-
pulse surge upon him. It told of determination, anx-
iety, fear, haste— all jumbled together in a complex
message. His sight receptors picked up a dark form
moving slowly toward him. He was right on schedule!

Russ prepared, himself for the trap. It was going
to be a delicate procedure, for the specimen must be
obtained alive and unharmed, and, above all, there
must be no disturbance to the peace of the village.
The beings of this world must remain unaware of
the abduction. They must never know of this visit
from the stars.

He edged toward the man who was weaving errati-
cally down the street. In his hand, the man clutched
a half-empty whiskey bottle. It was obvious where the
missing half bottle of whiskey had gone, and Russ
took advantage of the situation in formulating his
plan. He would lure the specimen to his ship with
an offer of good-fellowship and drink.

"G’moming,” Russ said in a slurry voice.

“Hi!” the man answered. He threw his arm over
the starman’s shoulder and, lifting the bottle to his
lips, he took a drink.

“Wash ya got there?” Russ asked.

The man giggled. “Wash it look like?”

The man from the stars grinned and reached his
arm out for the bottle. “Gimme a l’il drink, buddy.
Come on, pal, gimme a drink.”

"Sure” the man said, handing Mm the bottle. "Why
not?”

As he took the bottle from the man’s hand, Russ
allowed it to slip through his fingers and fall, crash-
ing, to the street. He looked sadly at the shattered
fragments of glass and the puddle of whiskey on the
pavement. “I’m shorry, pal,” he said, almost in

tears. “I’m awful shorry." He gazed down sorrowfully.

“ 'Sh all right,” the man assured him. “Think noth-
ing of it. ’Sh an unpreventable accident.”

“No,” Russ said morosely. “ 'Sh my fault. All my
fault.” He seemed about to cry. Then his face lit up
with a sudden smile. “I know what!” he exclaimed.
"Come on up to my place and we’ll get another bottle."

The other man leered approvingly. “Say! 'Sh good
idea!” he agreed. “But you’re my guest . . . you gotta
come to my place.”

“No. I broke the bottle and it’s up to me to get an-
other one.” Russ tugged at the other’s arm.

"Leggo me!” the man demanded angrily, wrenching
himself free. “Ne’ mind who broke the bottle. You’re
my guest and I insist we go up to my place!”

Russ started to object again when he saw the weapon
in the other man’s hand. “I insist!” the man repeated,
thrusting the revolver forward menacingly,

“Sure, pal. Anything you say,” the starman said.

“Let’s go,” the man ordered.

They proceeded solemnly down the street, one man
in front of the other, the gun between. Soon, they
neared the edge of the town.

“Say, where th’ hell you taking me?” Russ demanded.

“Keep going," he was told. “You’ll see.”

They continued along the road, past the last houses
of the town, across a railroad track, and through the
open desert country. They had gone a little beyond
the town limits when the starman stopped abruptly.

“Come on. Get going," the man with the gun com-
manded.

But Russ had decided that it was time to reverse
the roles of captor and captive. He turned and lunged
at his adversary, trying to wrest the gun from his
hand. The two men fought, writhing in each other's

f rip. Confident in his own superhuman strength, Russ
ad underestimated the power of his opponent. The
brief scuffle ended as Russ received a sharp blow on
the head and crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

T he man pocketed his gun and lifted Russ in his
arms. No longer pretending drunkenness, he
quickly covered the remaining distance to his
destination. Dawn was lighting the sky and he knew
that he must hurry.

Depositing the starman’s limp body in the special
compartment, he went to the control panel and
reached the ship for flight. A moment later, the sleek
vessel lifted quietly into the morning sky and swiftly
took off for home, far away among the stars.

Gor sighed as he relaxed in the pilot-seat. He
flipped the switch of the audio-log. “Mission accom-
plished," he reported. “The human specimen is rest-
ing quietly.” +

DECEMBER, 1953

31

For centuries, salesmen have
played an integral part in the
commerce of the civilized world.
There is no reason to believe that
the future with its discovery and
pioneering of new worlds will
lessen the salesman’s presence in
the scheme of things. He will
have to adjust to strange crea-
tures and stranger environments,
but the typical characteristics and
tactics of the aggressive salesman
today will be no less pronounced
in the world of tomorrow, as this
story entertainingly points out.

T he old man and I lay quietly on the hillside
watching the clouds. We didn’t have anything
else to do ... we never did.

A rocket trail arced across the sky. The old man
stirred, following the trail with his eyes.

“I used to fly a spaceship,” he said.

"You don’t say,” I responded. I’ve always been
diplomatic. There was no point in telling the old bum
I didn’t believe he’d ever done a lick of real work
in his life.

“Yes sir," he said, “if it hadn’t been my misfortune
to go to Alzar, I might still be a space traveler.”
“Izzatso?" I said idly, wondering where supper was
coming from. Now that most of Earth's population has
emigrated throughout the Galaxy it’s hard to find
enough people willing to give handouts.

"Yes sir,” the old man said again, “if I hadn’t had
that trouble. I’d still be Agricorp’s best space traveling
salesman instead of a poor old failure.”

I wanted to tell him to save the sob stuff for the
paying customers. But I didn’t.

“Alzar was a funny planet to have to sell agricultural
tools to, anyway," he continued, remorselessly deter-
mined to tell the whole tale. "Nothing but limestone,
white and gray cliffs of it everywhere, and very little
vegetation. The soil had too much lime in it and
was pretty rocky besides. Considering the poor farm-
ing prospects, I’ve often wondered why Agricorp sent
me to that out-of-the-way stop at all. Of course, the
sales manager and I were both chasing the same girl
at the time, and maybe he thought he could make
better time with me out of the way for several weeks.
It took a whole week just to get to Alzar.

“You know where Alzar is, boy?”

“Yeah,” I replied, knowing he was off on his story
whether I listened or not. Once he got started talking,
nothing could dam the stream.

He seemed a bit surprised that I’d heard of the
planet, but it didn’t stop him.

“Well, then, you know the Alzarians were a pretty
civilized bunch,” he continued. “Since they didn’t
have much wood, and no clay for bricks, their build-
ings were all of cut stone and really made to last. The
architecture was rather monotonous, probably because
of a scarcity of structural metals, particularly iron and
aluminum, which are necessary for tall buildings and
unusual designs. Still, their settlements were nice look-
ing-for that matter, so were their women. Prettiest
girls you’ve ever seen. Naturally they weren’t exactly
like humans, but you couldn’t tell it by looking-
feeling, either.”

“They didn’t have any silly taboos about clothing
. . . mostly they went nude except for a few orna-
ments. ...”

He paused, a faraway look in his faded eyes. It was
clear what he was thinking about.

He came back to reality. “Well, like most civilized
races the Alzarians were always fighting, usually over
nothing. They had developed terrible weapons that
were extremely expensive and caused an agonizing
death if they hit, although they seldom hit. Living
on a world made almost entirely of calcium carbonate,
the Alzarians noted early in their history the effect
of acid on carbonates. I guess they reasoned anything
strong enough to eat away the ground on which they
walked would be an excellent weapon. For their
principal weapon they had an acid gun that fired
hydrochloric acid under pressure and very hot. Their
fighting was strictly an antipersonnel operation, since
it was much too difficult to destroy their massive stone
buildings. Sometimes they used gas to smoke the
enemy out of his fortifications, but once out in the
open they relied on the acid gun.

“Their wars were comical to watch. Whenever a
soldier was touched by a drop from an acid gun he
immediately ran to the rear, knowing that long con-
tact with the acid would mean serious injury. Then,
after a thorough washing with water he was ready
to attack again. The only good thing to be said for
the setup was that at least the wars were hygienic.

“Usually the gunners tried to hit the eyes, since
a drop of hot concentrated acid in the eye would in-
capacitate any of them. I imagine it was excruciatingly
painful to get hit in the eye. The only shields they
had were made of silver, which of course couldn’t be
used over the eyes.

“When I set my space trader down on Alzar, I didn't
intend to spend so much time observing local cus-
toms. I intended to do the usual routine demonstra-
tions of my agricultural tools, following up with an
order-taking session. The whole business wouldn’t
take a week if I made the right contacts. Unfortunately
the settlement where I was instructed to land was at
war with one of its neighbors and the officials were
too busy to waste time on me. As I said, I think my
sales manager sent me there deliberately because he
knew it would be a long time before I could get
results.

“However, the girls were pretty and they didn’t have
anything to do either. For a couple of weeks I had a
lot of fun with one of them. One thing about Alzarian
girls, they certainly weren’t inhibited.”

The old man winked at me. Privately I thought
he was a bit disgusting but I didn’t say anything.

“Finally,” he continued, “the mayor— or whatever
they called the chief— took time off from the fighting
to inspect my wares. While I’d been waiting and
watching the war, I’d gotten an idea: what these
people needed most were more humane and efficient
weapons. Instead of demonstrating farm tools I de-
cided to show them the advantage explosive weapons
would have over their hideous acid guns.

33

$aENCS-Ficn<m+

"The first rule in the Agricorp Sales Manual says,
'Be resourceful. If you can’t sell standard farm tools
to nonhuman races, at least sell them something.’
That’s what I was going to do.

“I rounded up two or three sheeplike beasts that
the Alzarians used for food; I assembled the mayor
and his council for the show, and I gave my demon-
stration with a hand blaster that Agricorp had in-
tended as a tree-stump remover. Of course, the blaster
took the heads right off the animals as cleanly and
mercifully as a man could want.

"I was proud of myself. At least I was proud until
I saw the effect of the demonstration on the mayor.
He was shocked to the core. I remember thinking, ‘Oh,
Lord, what crazy tribal law have I broken now!’
“The expression on his face was a mixture of in-
credulity, horror, and disgust. 'Stranger/ he said, ‘you
have committed an infamous deed. No person cruel
and vicious enough to destroy life with explosives
can do business here. Go, before your life is forfeit/
“I was using an autotranslator developed at

glass before, which wasn’t strange since It takes silica
to make glass and there wasn’t a ton of silica on the
whole planet. It was all limestone, all carbonate, no
trace of silicate anywhere.

“My bosses thought 1 should have figured out the
potentialities in a silica-free world for myself. You
know, Earth has a large percentage of silicon, and
where there’s silicon there are aluminum and iron.
Alzar didn’t have that. Before he fired me, the sales
manager pointed out fifteen ways I could have profited
from the difference.

“I felt bad about the whole episode. It wasn’t just
my failure that hurt; I really worried about that
Alzarian girl I’d been so friendly with. Later I learned
that Alzarians don't have babies, they lay eggs. On a
planet as loaded with calcium carbonate as Alzar was
and considering that eggshells are mostly calcium
carbonate, I guess that it isn’t too surprising.

“I was mighty relieved. I’d have hated to cause
that girl any trouble, even if she did belong to the
craziest race in the Galaxy. People that think nothing

“The gunners tried to hit the eyes.”

Harvard. Actually, I suppose, the mayor was putting
it less fussily in his own language, but I got the idea
anyway. I left without a single order. Seems it was
taboo in their culture to use explosives.”

He sighed sadly. "Then when I came back to Earth
and turned in my report, I was fired.”

“Why?” I asked. “Just for losing a sale?”

“No. Mainly because I lost a planeful of customers
for Agricorp, but also because I missed a golden
opportunity, they said. A couple of weeks after
I was booted out, an enterprising plate-glass salesman
sold the planet a million dollars worth of glass shields.
He revolutionized warfare on Alzar because the glass
was transparent and acid-resistant and could be used
over the eyes. (The last I heard, their scientists were
developing hydrogen fluoride weapons to fog the
shields with.) It seems nobody on Alzar had ever seen

of throwing acid in your face are not pleasant. I’d
hate to die from acid burns, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeh,” I lied.

There was a pause, each of us thinking his own
thoughts.

The old man rose. “Come on, kid, let’s find supper,”
he said.

I got up and followed him down the hill. No use
telling him he had a son hatched from an egg.
Evidently he knew nothing about the Alzarian son’s
sacred duty to administer the ceremonial acid to his
father when his time comes to enter the Hereafter.
It wouldn’t be long.

“Craziest race in the Galaxy,” indeed! What other
race shows such filial piety?

I wonder if there is any market for acid guns on
Earth. +

DECEMBER, 19S3

33

The thought of sending signals to or receiving signals from extraterrestrial
intelligences has always intrigued the public fancy. The problem is not
that of sending or receiving the signal; the problem is of devising a means
or a code that could, be interpreted by a distant and unimaginably alien
culture. In this fascinating article. Dr. Shepherd has carefully worked out
... .^ a method of sending messages that might be understood by any non-
by LESLIE R. SHEPHERD, humans with at least basic scientific development. You will be intrigued
Ph,D. by the clear logic of his plan, especially written for Science-Fiction-)-.

(Illustration by Frank R. Paul )

T he possibility of establishing communication
with an intelligent race upon another planet is
something which must stir the imagination. In
comparison the mere act of setting foot on our airless
satellite is of minor significance. If there are such
beings on our neighboring solar worlds, then knowl-
edge of the fact may come when man first arrives upon
these worlds in interplanetary vehicles. However, the
limitless depths of interstellar space may postpone for
a thousand years voyages to other planetary systems,
and possibly the first intimation of the existence of a
technically advanced extra solar race will reach us in
the form of feeble radio signals weakened by distance.

The detection of faint signals does not constitute
communication, however, and many will maintain that
to develop an interchange of radio signals into an ex-
change of intelligent information would be impossible.
What possible medium can exist, between the species
who have evolved on different worlds, from which in-
telligent discourse may be formed? The answer is not
difficult to find. The medium lies in the number-con-
cept and certain basic mathematical and scientific
ideas, which must be shared by all technically com-
petent species. Hogben, in a recent paper ( Journal of
the British Interplanetary Society, 1953 November),
has put forward a number of proposals for utilizing the
manipulation of numbers for communication between
the Earth and a hypothetical race on Mars.

Technical Problems of Interstellar Radio

T he ultimate limiting factor upon the distance
over which we may receive radio signals is the
background of noise which exists in very sensi-
tive receivers. This background of noise completely
swamps signals below a certain strength and makes
detection impossible. Noise occurs at all frequencies,
and consequently the wider the band passed by a
radio receiver the greater the power of the noise
background in that receiver and the higher the strength
of the signals if they are to be detected. Consequently
the received signal will be stronger with respect to
noise if we use available power to send a very narrow-

band signal such as code. For the same power the
received signal will be much noisier if we send a
broader-band voice signal, and still noisier for the
still broader band signals of television.

Interstellar radio communications will probably con-
sist of the transmission of pulses or bursts of electro-
magnetic energy repeated perhaps once per second. The
peak power in a microsecond pulse must be a million
times as great as that in a 1 -second pulse in order to
be detected above the noise background.

Since there is presumably some upper limit, both on
the peak power and upon the average power of a trans-
mitter, then it would appear that our interstellar
pulses should be of the longest possible duration and
repeated at lengthy intervals to ensure detection over
the greatest possible distance.

To increase the range, the transmitting and receiving
arrays will probably resemble the so-called radio-tele-
scopes, in which the antennae are situated at the foci
of great parabolic metal meshes.

The particular virtue of such huge arrays is that
they enable the transmitted signals to be concentrated
into very narrow beams (in the manner of a search-
light beam) , while, used at the receiving end, they
collect the radio waves falling over a very wide area
and concentrate them onto the receiving antenna. The
beams are much "tighter” if we go to very low. wave-
lengths, but receiver noise increases sharply in the
“centimetric” range and offsets much of the advantage
in their employment. A disadvantage inherent in the
use of tight beams and large receiving "telescopes"
(which have a very narrow field and only see a small
region of the sky) is the improbability of transmitting
and receiving arrays being directed in the correct direc-
tions at the correct time; and the chances of establish-
ing interstellar contact in the first instant is remote.

To illustrate the possibility of receiving interstellar
radio signals of detectable strength, a few figures are
given here. Assuming that long pulses of about 1
second are being transmitted, the bandwidth is about
10 cycles. The limiting signal power that can be de-
tected above the noise with this bandwidth and at a

SCIENCE-FICTION +

wavelength of say 30 centimeters will be of the order is much more likely that pulses of about 1 millisecond
of 10*18 watts (one million million millionth of a duration would be employed with a 10-kiloeycle band-
watt) . Assuming that the transmitting and receiving width, so that the peak power of the transmitter or the
arrays are as large as the Jodrell Bank radiotelescope, areas of our radio-telescope reflectors would have to be
then the peak power at the transmitter will need to be pushed up accordingly. In addition we would want to
40 megawatts to cover a distance of 10 light years. If send pulses of various sizes at a rate more rapid than
only one pulse is sent every 10 seconds, then the 1 in 10 seconds, the largest being many times greater
average power of the transmitter is 4 megawatts. in power than the minimum detectable above the

These figures illustrate that the transmitting power noise, pushing the necessary peak and average tram-
involved, is almost within present-day capacity. If milting power still higher.

much larger area arrays at the transmitter and receiver Obviously interstellar radio communication would
are considered, the power requirement could be be a difficult proposition technically. Signals would be
brought down well within the reach of u.h.f. genera- limited to simple pulses sent at a rate of perhaps 1 per
tors which exist today. However, the likelihood of ever second, and the size and duration of these pulses could
detecting a transmission coming from an unknown be varied only within narrow limits. Any system of
direction, with a mere 10-cycle bandwidth, at a fre- communication would have to be developed around
quency of 1,000 megacycles, would be virtually nil. It these rather restricting circumstances.

“Hypothetical intelligences of Vegan planet, communicating with Earth’'

DECEMBER, 1953

Leslie R. Shepherd, Ph.D. t long a wall-known
figura in rocketry circles, particularly in
Europe where he it technical director of the
British Interplanetary Society, has been mak-
ing a new reputation for himself by his care-
fully worked out articles in Science*Fiction+-.

Establishing Contact and the First Steps

I n order to facilitate this discussion, let us suppose
that there exists an intelligent race which has
evolved upon a planet revolving about the bright
star Vega. Assume this species is sufficiently advanced
technically to possess radio and sufficiently enlightened
to decide to use this medium in an attempt to seek
out other races in the universe; has set up a fairly large
number of transmitters, and has systematically beamed
radio signals in the direction of various likely stars.

Some idea of the initial problem facing the Vegans
will be gathered from the fact that the number of stars
within a radius of 100 light years numbers about
10,000. Consequently, unless they possess a vast number
of transmitters, or have advanced knowledge about
the possibility of habitable planets existing around
particular stars, then they must ration the amount of
time devoted to each star. In fact, the odds are such
that we on this planet might spend a hundred years
diligently probing the skies with our radio-telescopes
before we might happen to point them in the direction
of Vega at just the correct time and tuned to just the
right frequency band to pick up the signals.

Our first step on receiving the Vegan signals is to
set up a transmitter of the greatest possible power and
transmit radio signals back at the same frequency. It
is rational to choose the same frequency that the
Vegans are using, since out of a vast range of possible
frequencies (from about 10 megacycles up to 30,000
megacycles) this is the only one which, so far, has any
significance. Since the star Vega is 26 light-years dis-
tant , 52 years will elapse before we know that the
Vegans, in their turn, are receiving our signals. In the
interim we might not consider it worth while to
attempt to develop communication other than to in-
troduce certain characteristic pulse combinations or
“words.” The most important of these will be a call
sign and time signals. If we are sending pulses at a
repetition rate of about 1 per second, then these them-
selves might define time intervals, but at intervals of
one hour, one day, and one year, we should transmit
a pulse word which in due course the Vegans will learn
to identify with these time intervals. The definition of
time intervals in this way is a most important basic
step in the development of our inter-stellar language.
The call sign will occur only whenever we commence
transmission after a shutdown. It will have a certain
value as a symbol identifying ourselves.

The first sign that the Vegans will have received our
signals, which will follow after 52 years, will be marked
by a change in the nature of their transmissions. If for
example, they have been devoting only a small portion
of their time to transmission to us, then, once they
have detected our reply, they will obviously throw in
a full-time transmission to strengthen the bond of
contact, and instead of detecting their signals at in-
frequent intervals, we may now find them coming
through more or less continuously. At any rate we may
be sure that they will have some definite means of ac-
quainting us with the fact that we have contacted them.

Before considering deliberate attempts to exchange
Intelligent messages, it is worth noting that certain
natural information is inherent in the radio waves
which we are transmitting and receiving. As our planet
revolves about the sun it moves first nearer to and then
farther from Vega, repeating the process once every
year. As the Earth moves toward Vega, the frequency
of our radio transmission will appear to the Vegans
to increase, while as the Earth recedes, the frequency
will appear to decrease. This effect (the Doppler
effect) might enable the Vegans to deduce the length
of our year (it is unlikely they will be able to observe
the Earth directly by optical means) . Assuming that
they have a reasonable knowledge of astronomy, they
will know the mass and size of our sun and be able to
deduce the size of the orbit of our planet. These data
will serve the useful purpose of providing the Vegans
with confirmation of their interpretation of informa-
tion which we shall send them later. We shall of course
obtain similar information concerning the planet upon
which the Vegan transmitter is situated, unless we
happen to be situated near the axis of the orbit. The
Doppler effect could also, in principle, be used to
establish the period of rotation of the planets and so
confirm the significance of the day-time signals.

The Vegans

W e do not know what manner of creatures the
Vegans are. Their chemical constitution may
differ radically from our own. In physical form
they may bear no resemblance to any creatures upon
our world. Their senses and methods of communica-
tion with each other may not necessarily be anything
like our own, and language as we understand it may
not exist. All these possibilities may promote extreme
pessimism over our chances of establishing any sensible
exchange of information and ideas.

However, we may have basis for assuming that the
Vegans are accomplished in the field of electronics and
must therefore possess considerable knowledge of
physics and mathematics. They may have a useful ex-
perience in the field of chemistry too. This is essential
m the design and construction of the complicated im-
pedimentia required for an interstellar radio network.
Obviously they must also be keenly interested in as-
tronomy, otherwise they would not have embarked
upon the present venture. In the development of our
radio language therefore we can safely draw upon basic
ideas in these sciences to demonstrate the meaning of
our words and symbols. Above all, the fact that two
and two make four, is universally true and will be as
obvious to the technically competent Vegans as it is to
us, so we can utilize simple number manipulations to
develop much of our interstellar vocabulary.

We must make use of numbers, either pure numbers,
or numbers whose relationship has some physical as-
tronomical or chemical importance, to demonstrate
the significance of words. The Vegans may not use
words to convey ideas in their own everyday transac-
tions; they may have a system of communication much
more advanced than any terrestrial language. Never-
theless, we may be confident that the meaning of our
words or the ideas which they are intended to convey
will not be lost upon Vegans, provided we illustrate
them by unambiguous means.

Certain words, the time-words-hour, day, and year-
have been demonstrated to the Vegans, as already ex-
plained, simply by their direct use and by virtue of the
fact that time is a physical quantity which enters
directly into our transmissions. The next words which
we will introduce to the Vegans will be demonstrated
by simple number manipulations. These words will

convey the ideas of addition, subtraction, multiplica-
tion, division, zero, fractions, negative numbers, and
the concept of identity. The method adopted is that
which Hogben has proposed, namely, the performance
of simple sums, e.g.,

2 >< 2 + 2=6

which in our transmission takes the form of two
pulses; space; a combination of pulses denoting plus;
space; two pulses; space; the pulse combination “plus”;
space; two pulses; space; a pulse combination denoting
equality or identity; space; six pulses. The other words
or concepts that we have mentioned can be demon-
strated in a similar manner.

Two important concepts, those of affirmation (yes,
correct) and of negation (no, wrong) can also be
introduced by means of these simple sums, by using
them as labels for sums that have been worked cor-
rectly or incorrectly. Of course, we shall require to
use these and most of the previous words in much
wider senses, later on, but the scope of any word can
be widened gradually, so that the Vegans can under-
stand any new significance, which might be attached
to it, by referring back to its previous use and original
definition and attempting to draw analogies.

In the course of our transmissions, we shall need to
use very large numbers. Obviously we cannot continue
in the simple manner which we have employed above.
To do so would mean that a number such as 30,000,000,
for example, would take a whole year to transmit at a
rate of one pulse per second. A more compact system
must be utilized. The decimal system, which is in
common use, is very convenient in that it is extremely
compact, but unfortunately it involves ten diffierent
digits and would consequently call for that number of
variations in the size or duration of pulses used. The
technical difficulties make this undesirable.

The use of a binomial system would be better, since
it involves only two different digits, zero and unity.
The zero pulse could be a half-size and unity a full-
size pulse in our interstellar telegraph code. One
disadvantage of the binomial system is that it re-
quires approximately three times as many figures as
the decimal system to represent any given large
number. The following table illustrates some numbers
in the binomial system:

1=1 5=101 16=00001

8=01 6=011 64=0000001

3=11 7=111 1000=0001011111

4=001 8=0001

The argument in favor of having only two types of
digits for number representation will also apply to the
construction of words. Morse code, of course, utilizes
only two pulses, distinguished by difference in duration
rather than height. However, Morse merely codes the
individual letters of existing words and would be
unnecessarily cumbersome in the interstellar teleg-
raphy. Since the Vegans do not know our Earth
languages, we might as well start from scratch in
constructing words. Accepting, as in the binomial
system, only two types of pulses, distinguished from the
digits by having slightly different heiglit and duration,
we can regard these as a two-letter alphabet and build
our words from two different letters.

In the interest of having to transmit only the smallest
possible numbers, we must from time to time teach
the Vegans to convert from one unit to another of
different magnitude. Thus, if we have illustrated the
significance of a mass of one ton, we should use this
to introduce smaller units, such as the pound, or, if
we are using the metric system, the gram. Actually, we
might start from the beginning and build up a bi-
nomial system of weights and measures to fit our

chosen number system. A simple conversion table re-
lating the time units, year, day, hour, second, should
be transmitted in the early stages of our transactions,
both to confirm the relationship which the Vegans will
have noted already, and in order to introduce small
units like the second, which could not be conveniently
included in the time signals.

The concept of frequency must follow very closely
the initial lessons on time and number, since it will
have considerable application. The radio frequency
of our signals will provide the necessary example to
illustrate our meaning. If we are transmitting at a
thousand megacycles, then, following our call sign,
we shall always add the message:

Frequency 1,000,000,000 in 1 second.

The Vegans will soon interpret the words “frequency”
and “in” used in a restricted sense, for the frequency
of oscillation of our signals is quite fundamental, once
the time unit is defined.

The pure number “pi," the ratio of the circum-
ference to the diameter of a circle, can be used as a
starting point of a discourse on geometry, which will
be essential when we come to discuss the solar system
with the Vegans, We can begin by defining pi in terms
of a numerical value, thus;

Pi=g,4i4 divided by 1,000

(since this is not exactly so, we would have to introduce
a word approximately, but this would present no great
difficulty) . The Vegans will be well aware of the
significance of this number and it will be quite safe
to proceed with the use of pi to introduce other
words e.g.

Circumference equals pi times diameter
Diameter equals two times radius
Circle: Area equals pi times radius times
radius

In this way we can also introduce the words
“sphere," “surface,” “area,” "volume,” and even pro-
ceed with a discussion of other geometric forms such
as the square and cube, by the process of defining
volume and area in the terms of lengths of sides.

Sun, Earth, and the Elements

E arly in the proceedings, we shall need to establish
names for our sun and the Earth. One possible
method of identifying the sun is to refer in
some way to its spectrum. The frequency at peak emis-
sion, of the light of the sun, is 640 million million per
second. We might try this as a means of identification,
thus;

Sun: Frequency 640 million million in one
second.

Then we might try the same method of identification
for Vega, thus:

Vega: Frequency 1,200 million million in one
second.

While these statements do not positively identify the
two stars, they provide a strong clue which should
not be lost on the Vegan astronomers. Later usage of
the words will confirm the meaning beyond doubt.
One possible additional clue, introducing a word for
electromagnetic waves (radio, light) would be con-
tained in the signals;

Radio: Sun to Vega: 26 years.

This might also prove a starting point for our dis-
cussion of the solar system, in particular the Earth,
for we may send a signal;

Radio: Sun to Sun«Planet y. 8 minutes.
This provides a means of identifying our planets,
for the Vegans will know the period of the Earth in
its orbit and therefore the radius of the orbit. In
any case we will not leave it at that, for we may

make use of the elementary geometry lessons which
have gone before, to introduce words for orbit, period,
and units of length. For example:

Sun Planet 3: Orbit period equals 1 year
Sun Planet 3; Orbit radius equals 150 mil-
lion kilometers

and then:

Sun to Vega: Distance equals 220 thousand
million million kilometers

This signal helps to confirm the identification of Sun
and Vega and the magnitude of the kilometer.

We have now a sufficiently comprehensive vocabu-
lary to discuss the diameter, surface area, and
volume of the sun and the Earth and of Vega. The
sizes of the sun and Vega will of course be known
to the Vegan astronomers, but the data about the
Earth will be new to them and will represent the
first fruits of the transactions. Data can also be sent
regarding the other planets and satellites of the solar
system.

Mass might be considered as the next concept to
introduce, and this may be done by sending two
signals, the first being

Sun: Mass equals 2,000 million million million
million tons

and the second giving the same data for Vega. It will
not be difficult for the Vegan interpreters to identify
mass, and the ton unit from this. Other mass units
may be introduced in a conversion table and similar
data given for the Earth and the other bodies of
the solar system.

So far we have confined ourselves to purely physical
and mathematical concepts, but soon we must widen
the field to include chemical and biological data. One
of the first steps in this direction involves the intro-
duction of the chemical elements and the atoms and
isotopes of these elements. Fortunately, number
language is particularly applicable to the chemical
elements. The fundamental numbers of the various
isotopes are (a) the atomic number (the number
of protons in the nucleus) and (b) the mass number
(the total number of protons and neutrons in the
nucleus). It is worth noting that chemists use these
numbers (actually atomic weight was used rather
than mass number) long before nuclear physics re-
vealed their true significance. It is inconceivable that
the Vegans, who are able to send radio signals across
26 light years of interstellar space, should be ignorant
of these numbers. First, we might list the stable
isotopes of all the elements, for example

Isotope- 1, Element-i ; Atomic Number 1.
Mass Number 1.

Isotope-2. Element. 1: Atomic Number 1.
Mass Number 2.

and so on. The significance of the table and the mean-
ing of the new words will probably become apparent
to the Vegans when they have the complete list and
subsequent usage will confirm this. Next, we may
introduce the atomic concept, making use of the actual
masses of the atoms and the units previously defined,
in signals of the following type;

Mass Atom. Isotope 1, Element 1. equals 1
divided by 600 thousand million million mil-
lion grams.

This should be sufficient to identify the word atom
and confirm the significance of the terms isotope,
element, etc.

Following the introduction of the chemical ele-
ments, we can signal information about chemical re-
actions and introduce chemical compounds, e.g.

i Atom Element 1 plus 1 Atom Element 8
equals 1 Molecule Compound 1.1.8.

signifying that two atoms of hydrogen combine with
one of oxygen to produce a molecule of water. Here
again, the true significance of molecule and compound
will become apparent when a number of examples
have been given.

The various states of matter, solid, liquid, and gas
can be introduced at this stage by reference to partic-
ular elements. At the same time we can introduce a
scale of temperature in the following manner (we
have chosen here the absolute Kelvin scale, according
to which water freezes at 273 degrees) ;

Temperature 274 Degrees. Compound 1.1.8.

Liquid

Temperature 272 Degrees: Compound 1.1.8.

Solid

and so on, giving a large number of examples to con-
firm the meanings of the words. We may augment this
information by giving the surface temperatures of the
sun (6,000 degrees) and Vega (11,000 degrees).

Our vocabulary has now been extended sufficiently
to describe the constitution of the sun, of Vega, and
in particular, of the Earth, We may say what propor-
tion of the surface is solid and what proportion is
liquid, identifying this liquid as water. The fact that
the surface is covered by gas, is easily conveyed in our
simple telegraphic system, and words like land, sea,
and atmosphere can be defined. The constitution of
our atmosphere can also be described so that the
Vegans now have a fairly close idea of the environment
of their telegraphist acquaintances.

Man, Life, and History

O ur treatment of the chemical compounds will
take us eventually into the field of organic com-
pounds and so to the discussion of biology. Spe-
cial emphasis might be set upon molecules which
form the vital bricks of living tissues, and in con-
nection with these we can introduce the words man
and life. This we can do by analogy, giving, first of
all, a list of the constituents of the sun and then
of the Earth, then giving a list of appropriate
organic substances and labeling them man.

The relationship between man and life might be
established by analogy. Thus we may signal as follows:
Land has property Solid.

Sea has property Liquid.

Man has property Life.

We can establish furthermore, with our existing vocab-
ulary, that man has a temperature of 310 degrees and
that this is higher than the surrounding temperature,
so that the Vegans will appreciate that man generates
his own internal energy. We can indicate the volume
mass of man, and do this against a time table of years,
thereby introducing the concepts of growth and matu-
rity and also giving a measure of life-time. That growth
is a property of life can be demonstrated by the
analogy method. Other creatures like dog, cat, and
horse can be introduced by means of growth tables
and the generic significance of the word life can be
emphasized by associating it with all these things.

The next step might be devoted to a demonstra-
tion that Sun Planet 3 is the abode of man and that the
other planets are not. Thus we might signal:

Man on Sun Planet 3: Yes.

Man on Sun Planet 1: No.

If by this time we have interplanetary flight, we
might add dates to indicate how long man has been on
the moon or Mars. Dates in the past can be represented
in a simple way by negative numbers of years and the
history of life on the Earth can be discussed now in a
rudimentary manner, by such phrase as:

Minus 1,000 million years: Life on Sun

sciENCt-mnoM*

Planet 3: No.

Minus 100 million years: Life on Sun

Planet 3: Yes.

Minus 1 million years: Man on Sun
Planet g: Yes.

Limitation on the physical conditions under which
life can exist, temperature, presence of water and
oxygen and so on, are well within the scope of our
language at this stage, if we make use of the words
“yes” and “no” to indicate which conditions are
permissible and which are not.

Facsimile

W e have demonstrated thus far how it is pos-
sible, starting from simple ideas of time and
number and proceeding through universal
laws and facts of science, to build up an exchange
of information which includes complex concepts such
as life and historic sequence. The items we have
detailed represent only a small proportion of the
subjects on which discourse would be possible. In
fact, what we have seen is the process of building
a language upon a sophisticated framework of
science and mathematics, rather than upon a primi-
tive framework of everyday life. Nevertheless, there
is something lacking in our method, which is pres-
ent in the more primitive language development.
This is our inability to point to objects in order
to establish their identity and to illustrate words
by actions and by pictures. Above all, it is almost
impossible to discuss shape, except in simple geometric
cases, in the medium which has been described so far.
The thing that is needed is a method of two- or three-
dimensional representation which will provide us
with a means of illustration, more powerful than num-
ber manipulation.

It might be argued that the Vegans may not possess
vision and, if not, they will not appreciate two-
dimensional representations. Vision, in the last
analysis, is the ability to detect , electromagnetic radia-
tion over a certain range of frequency, to differentiate
between frequencies (color) , and establish the
strength of the signal (brightness) , and above all to
determine the direction of the sources of the radia-
tion with considerable resolution and set out these
sources in a pattern within the mind. The radia-
tions which we detect are those which predominate
in our surroundings and we may regard it as an
inevitable process in the evolution of life, that we
have developed the vision sense. It would be sur-
prising if the Vegans had not developed a similar
sense, to much the same degree as the creatures
that live on the Earth, and even more surprising
that they had advanced technically without it. How-
ever, even if they are blind, they must have some com-
pensating faculty that would serve much the same
purpose and allow them to perceive objects in their
correct position and form. This being so, it can be
assumed with confidence that the Vegans would ap-
preciate diagrammatic or pictorial representation, if
we could transmit it to them.

The impossibility of interstellar television need not
bother us. In any case, television is a system which in-
volves such peculiarities as the human tempo of life
and persistence of vision, characteristics that may be
radically different for the Vegans. Facsimile telegraphy
is all that is required, and even at a slow rate of one
pulse per second, it should be possible to transmit
facsimile signals which will enable the Vegans to build
up two-dimensional illustrations once they have ap-

E reciated the purpose of the transmissions. The identi-
cation of facsimile should present no great difficulty

to a race with any real measure of intellectual ability.
The Vegans should soon learn to place the correct
interpretation upon the transmissions.

Ideally, facsimile should consist of almost con-
tinuous unspaced pulses, the height of which will
indicate the brightness of a spot on the diagram or
picture. Bearing in mind the technical difficulties of
interstellar telegraphy, however, this might prove im-
possible, in which case we should send the short-
duration, long-spaced pulses of the earlier telegraphy
system, and leave it to the Vegans to discover the
correct manner of reproduction. The most difficult
step for the Vegans will be the initial one of discover-
ing the fact that the signals represent an array of spots
and the method of scanning. We can make this task
easier for them by reference to simple geometric con-
cepts previously discussed. Thus our first transmissions
can represent circles, triangles, and so on, and we
might prefix the facsimile by some clue to the array
and the object represented thus:

Circle on square 50 times 50.

This, followed by 2,500 pulses, does not require any
giant feat of intellect to interpret. At first the trans-
mission may be in black and white, i.e. involving
pulses of two heights only, one just above the noise
level and the other type as high as possible. Later, we
might increase the variety of pulse heights to introduce
degrees of shading. In both cases we might indicate to
the Vegans the degree of brightness involved, for
brightness is a physical quantity which we could easily
introduce as a by-product of our discourses.

Having established the principles of facsimile, we
should be able to extend our field of communication
immeasurably. We should be able to compile for the
Vegans a pictorial encyclopedia of things and events
in our world which would enable them to obtain a
comprehensive knowledge of our planet. We could
even demonstrate the correct tempo of various actions
and processes by means of animated sequences with
time labels on successive pictures and in the same way,
improve upon our more primitive history lessons with
pictures snowing the time-scale of evolution and the
development of man. Facsimile would not of course,
replace the more primitive form of telegraphy, but
help turn it into a mature and expressive medium.

Time and Telegraphy

T hroughout our transactions with the Vegans, we
should be “listening" to beings, who had just been
receiving messages from our grandparents, and
“talking" to vegans who would be about to send in-
formation to our grandchildren. The posing and an-
swering of questions in the normal sense would be
impossible. Most of the time, particularly in the early
stages, we should be striking ahead without being
really certain that the Vegans 26 years hence would
understand our messages. However, it is fairly certain
that while we were making our initial attempts to
transmit information, we should also be receiving the
first attempts of the Vegans to do likewise. If we found
that we could interpret their messages, then it might
be better, after all, to leave the initiative with them
and work according to their system. This would at
least avoid the complication of building up a duplicate
interstellar language. In all probability the Vegans’
method of approaching the problem of communica-
tion would differ greatly in detail from the one which
we have outlined, for it would be colored by their
psychology and their own peculiar method of convers-
ing with each other. However, we may be sure that
the essential framework of numbers and Nature’s laws
would be there to guide us. +

DECEMBER, 1953

39

A s this issue’s Chain Reaction is being written, the
fk October, 1953, issue of SCIENCE-FICTION-f
has been on sale only a few days, yet letters and
telephone calls are already flooding in, greeting all
aspects of the issue with heartening enthusiasm. One
thing certain beyond any doubt is that Frank R.
Paul has added new laurels to his already star-studded
reputation. Just turned seventy, he is unquestionably
at the peak of his ability. The introduction of Virgil
Finlay to our pages was cheered by many who felt
that he was doing some of his finest work for us.

The new book paper was universally acclaimed.
The readers found that the pages were easier to
handle, the type more readable due to less glare, and
that the bulk lent an indefinable atmosphere and
personality to the magazine.

Delight was expressed over the return of Thomas
Calvert McClary to science-fiction, and some doubts
were voiced that we could duplicate as stellar a line-up
of great authors in the future as we did in October.
Well, we are not letting up the pace. This issue brings
back the master, Harry Bates, with a short-novel that
in addition to its quality bears only one thing in
common with his previous stories: it is one of the
most unusual, off-trail science-fiction stories ever
written. We've added James H. Schmitz— author of
"Witches of Carres” to our roster, as well as bright
newcomer Frank M. Robinson. We also brought back
for a repeat stellar headliners such as Murray Leinster
and Eric Frank Russell.

We said in our August, 1953, issue that if there were
no good short-shorts available we would buy none,
and if there were more than one, we would buy
a$ many as we could get. Four writers new to the
field make their ddbut with short-shorts this issuel

In the last issue we added Virgil Finlay to our art
staff. In this number we bring you L. Sterne Stevens,
better known to science-fiction lovers as Lawrence.
Thus the three greatest story illustrators in science-
fiction today, Frank R. Paul, Virgil Finlay, and
Lawrence, will appear every issue.

I t is always a risky business to predict the future,
especially since projected stories don’t always
work out, but subject to reservations, we’ve got
some fine material developing. We’re hard at work
on Nat Schachner, one of the former leading science-
fiction writers, and now a prominent historian.

Some great sequels are in prospect. Thomas Calvert
McClary is putting together a sequel to "The Celestial
Brake,” based on a splendidly human concept. Clifford
D. Simak will have a follow-up story to "Spacebred
Generations” which has the possibilities of a science
fiction classic. Harry Bates has said something about a
terrific continuation of "Death of a Sensitive” and
we’re giving him every encouragement. Philip Jos^
Farmer says to expect a good one from him shortly.
We already have on hand and scheduled for our next

issue a fast-paced, science-adventure short novel,
crammed with new ideas and human interest, by the
old master Murray Leinster.

Many old-time readers have asked us to try to get
Elliot Bold, unique and well-remembered science-
fiction artist of the past. We’ve been in correspondence
with him, but unfortunately he has been ill, but
when he has recovered sufficiently we'll try to obtain
at least a few illustrations from him.

Donald A. Wollheim reports that he is editing a
new science-fiction anthology for McBride, contain-
ing one great story from each of the leading science-
fiction magazines that has never been anthologized
before. He may use "Death of a Sensitive" by Harry
Bates in that "collection. Philip Jos6 Fanner’s short
novel “Strange Compulsion” from our October issue
will be included in a forthcoming anthology Prize
Science Fiction,

SCIENCE-FICTION-}- also continues to be the only
science-fiction magazine whose art-work is consistently
displayed and reprinted. Lloyd Mallon, capable editor
of the remarkable Fawcett Publications book The
Mystery of Other Worlds Revealed, is compiling a
new book, to be composed of outstanding articles and
fiction on space travel. From SCIEN CE-FICTION -j-
he has obtained rights to reproduce some fourteen of
our interior illustrations by Frank R. Paul, Tom
O’Reilly, Charles Hornstein, and others, in addition
to three of our covers. Outstanding among these will
be the complete color reproduction of the “Our
Atomic Sun” cover by Paul from our October, 1953,
number. “Interstellar Flight” by Leslie R. Shepherd,
Ph.D., from the April, 1953, issue of our magazine
will also be included, along with an article by Hugo
Gernsback.

American Inventory, from New York’s Museum
of Modern Art, utilized Tom O’Reilly’s lead illustra-
tion for Simak’s story, and Paul’s drawing of the
moon from “The End of the Moon,” both from our
August issue, for display on a television program on
space-travel, which was written and compiled by
Murray Leinster.

Of special importance, too, is the fact that readers
complained that our former type-style (Bodoni light)
printed too dark on the new paper. So we have
changed over to the more suitable Baskerville type,
which is especially designed for printing on book
paper. In addition to the greater legibility, 3,000 to
4,000 extra words have been added to the magazine-
equal to an additional short story-as a bonus to our
readers, at no extra cost in money or eyestrain!

The editorial staff is working hard to merit your con-
tinued support, and to make SCIENCE-FICTION-j-
the science-fiction magazine you’ve dreamed about.
If you like what we have been doing, won’t you pass the
word on to your friends that they are missing some-
thing if they haven’t read SCIENCE-FICTION+? +

Sam Moskowitz

40

•CIENCI.IICtlON*

The past one hundred years have seen more scientific progress than the
preceding ten thousand years. Specialization has become necessary,
since no one man can any longer absorb complete knowledge of his
subject. A point is already being reached where the elements of each
new advance have become so complex that it is difficult for us to visual-
ize all the factors that go into future developments. Human beings
seem to be moving toward a condition where they will not be able to
comprehend or understand new phenomenon before them, even though
their science and mathematics may prove their existence. Harry Bates ,
, sensitively perceiving such an eventually impending situation, has writ-
Hurry Butei i, w«ii tn.wn to «n science. ten a human and moving story on a theme calculated to make you think.

FICTION-}- readers for hie remarkable story

“Death of a Sensitive,” which appeared ( Illustrations by Virgil Finlay)

in our May, 1953, issue. He is even better

known to the general public as the author

of “Farewell to the Master,” the fine

story from which the motion picture “The

Day the Earth Stood Still” was made.

i

W e all know now it was something neiv that
happened two weeks ago in that lonely field
out on Long Island. «,

Some of us are frightened. A great many of us are
shaken and bewildered. And why shouldn’t we be?
The four dimensions of space-time have betrayed us.
They were unstable all the time, and now the impos-
sible has occurred.

Extra dimensions have long been abstract concepts
used by mathematicians, but what a shock to find they
may have reality! What a shock to learn that the sym-
bols can strike and kill! And kill so fantastically!

Never has there been such hush-hush. Earth’s top
scientists swarm over the fatal area, and we’re told
nothing. I say we. I am an electrical engineer at the
Wilson Laboratories where it happened; I’ve been
employed there since my graduation in February and
I still draw my salary; I was sole witness of the first
wonder and the major witness of the third— but they
don’t even let me on the premises. Having given my
facts, I haven’t any present use. I'd only be under their
feet. So— while I know the general setup at the field,
and know a good deal about the lightning experiments
which were performed there, I know no more than
you of the dimensional experiments now going on.

Nor do I know any more than you the explanation
of what happened.

I do know, and I alone know, the complete story of
the impact of the New Thing on one human being,
and I am telling that story here.

You've read the names of the victims. Mary Sellers
I knew since childhood. I grew up with her husband
Tom, and was his best friend. I was right on the field
with them at the moment of Mary’s fantastic death,
when the Unknown first struck.

It was about nine-twenty in the evening, and very
still and lonely. A full moon showed clearly all the
larger details of the area. Several hundred yards to the
west, in the direction of New York City, lay the clus-
ter of buildings that comprised the indoor part of the
Wilson Laboratories. Between lay the field used in the
outdoor experiments— a rectangular area of about 80

acres, once field land, now a level surface of weeds
irregularly furrowed with deep trenches. In a great
oval stood a half-dozen high latticed towers, and in
the center of them two greater towers— the area of
mystery. I may not give any further details. The field
was circled by a high woven-wire fence posted at inter-
vals with out-facing signs warning: keep out. light-
ning EXPERIMENTS. DANGEROUS.

When it happened I was standing on the lip of a
trench in the eastern end of the field. Below me in the
trench ran a new, experimental type of electrical con-
ductor. Thirty yards farther away two electricians
were at work in the trench farthest east, the tips of
their heads sometimes just visible above the lip. These
men were making alterations at the conductor in that
trench.

Tom and Mary were standing in the field twenty
yards or so from the men in the trench, and between
them and me. They were talking in low tones. I
couldn’t hear their words, but from their manner I
had the impression there was a stress between them;
not quite a quarrel, but a difference. I saw Tom turn
away, Mary circled him in the moonlight as if insisting
on looking into his face; he kept turning away. Then,
after a moment, she left him.

She walked straight westward across the field to the
next trench, turned and for a moment looked back at
him, crossed the trench where it was bridged by heavy
planks, turned again momentarily toward him, then
continued on the footpath across the wide level be-
yond. Tom stood watching her dwindling figure.
When Mary reached a place between the two central
towers she turned once more, for the last time. She
raised her arm high and waved. I saw her clearly.
Tom remained motionless, only looking. She dropped
her arm. For just a second the two stood thus, one
terrible second, while space-time coiled about Mary
to strike that initial blow so unexpected and so
fantastic ...

I had better tell you certain things about Tom and
Mary.

The three of us grew up together in the little Long

42

SQBtCt4KnOH4

Island town of Big Pond, two miles east of the Wilson
Laboratories,

Tom and I, as boys, were inseparable. His father had
a duck farm on the edge of town. The farm was our
inexhaustible playground. Every day saw us engaged
in some new enterprise of burning importance— mak-
ing bows and arrows for shooting starlings (I don’t
remember that we ever hit one)— digging for Indian
skeletons (which we insisted were not sheep bones) —
building board boats for venturing out among the
great flotillas of ducks— and other activities, many
others. Mary lived nearby, but she was no pal of ours
in those days. As that peculiar creature called a girl,
different, inferior, a sissy, we found her of use only for
the occasional amusement of pigtail jerking. The
mere threat of that kept her well away from our
arenas of proper masculine action.

When Tom was about eight his father gave him a
horse. He at once named it Pinto and always called it
a “him.” (Pinto was no pinto at all, but a red roan, an
ordinary farm horse, and a mare at that.) From the
moment Tom first climbed to her back via the fence,
it was no longer Tom and me who were inseparable,
but Tom and Pinto; the two ranged all over that end
of the Island. Tom wouldn’t let any of us other kids
ride his horse, for he’d say we didn’t have the experi-
ence— Pinto being a wild mustang, dangerous to
everyone except himself.

Only once did I ride Pinto. I had had an everlasting
fist fight with Tom. He was in the wrong, but impetu-
ous as always he had come at me, fists flailing. That
evening Tom’s father explained things and sent Tom
to ask my pardon. He did it forthrightly, crying while
he spoke— and the next day he came galloping to my
house and insisted that I take a ride on Pinto, to make
amends. It was his utmost gesture.

The adolescent Tom was too restless to be good at
book learning, and after high school he became an
apprentice electrician, later getting a job at Wilson’s.
I continued through college, graduated as an electrical
engineer, and became employed by Wilson’s. While I
was still in school Tom's father lost his farm, then
died, so Tom went to live in the town. He stabled old
Pinto in the garage of an empty house at one end of
town and pastured her in a piece of land in back. He
walked to and from work, or got lifts.

Then, one day, Tom looked at Mary and saw her
in a new way. She had somehow become a different
Mary— someone new, withdrawn, mysterious, with
sudden power to make his heart beat wildly. He
courted her in his usual impetuous way. They married
and rented the little house in the garage of which
Pinto was stabled. Crazy happy, he carried the new
Mary over the threshold of the little house into a new
life. That was a year ago. There came a time they
expected a child— and I have never seen a man so
happy and proud,

A t Wilson’s a new series of experiments were begin-
ning, and on the fatal night Tom was working
L overtime in the field. I was in the main building
when the watchman phoned, saying Mary was there.
I found she had ridden over on Pinto with coffee for
Tom. She was in a wonderful mood! She glowed with
happiness. I myself took her to him. From a distance
she called to Tom, and I saw him appear above the
trench and come toward us. I hung back, thinking
to be tactful.

From a short distance I stood and watched them.
They embraced and spoke, I felt there was a stress
between them. I saw her kiss him on the back of his
neck when his head was turned. He wheeled and spoke

to her sharply. She seemed to accept defeat and left
him, making for the footpath across the field, and
turning twice to look back. Between the high central
towers she turned for the last time and waved, but
Tom did not respond. She lowered her arm, and for a
second stood motionless in the moonlight, looking at
him. It was at the end of that second that the New
Thing happened and Tom’s life was blasted.

From the place where Mary stood there sounded a
slight c-r-a-c-k, and a foglike cloud appeared in the
air. It dissipated quickly , but the body of Mary was
no longer there.

Tom and I from our separate positions stared.

An ambiguous mass hung where the body of Mary
had been; very slowly it seemed to grow. I watched it
in consternation. I saw it as roundish; it seemed to
rotate, for the reflections from its surface changed in
the moonlight. I found myself moving toward it, and
Tom was doing the same, and we came nearer. I felt
that Tom, like myself, was terribly excited, but neither
of us said anything; we only stared and moved
forward.

The object steadily grew larger, and I realized it was
traveling in our direction. I reached out and grasped
Tom’s arm, stopping him, and together we watched it
approach.

Suddenly we recognized it. I’m sure my hair stood
on end. Stiff, dumbfounded, we watched the object
come. It was a head with an indistinct vapor-like body!

My eyes told me the object was Mary’s outline! It
was alone and unattached. It didn’t fall. It floated
toward us, eight or ten feet from the ground. The
head looked solid and substantial. It came on slowly,
sometimes wafting a foot or so higher, sometimes that
much lower. It reached us. It passed us. As I turned I
saw that Tom stood bent, knees and body. Never
could there have been a man so stricken. Still he did
not speak; but he was making noises in his throat.

As the object passed us it was rotating a little and
the moonlight fell full on the face. It was Mary’s face.
Just as it always was, except that now it was blank,
without expression. But it was somehow alivel At that
moment the eyes, which had been closed, opened! I
think they may have changed direction, but they
didn’t look at us. They seemed unaware of us. The
face was tilted upward, and the eyes pointed at the
stars.

With a terrible sob Tom moved forward. Never
changing speed or direction, the object floated away.
We followed it. Tom was panting now, but he still
said nothing. We were only a few yards behind when
it reached the east fence.

It passed through the fence, never pausing, but idly
floating straight ahead.

We jumped and for a moment stood grasping the
wire, watching it move away; then Tom with an ex-
plosion of energy swarmed up over the fence, dropped,
and started to overtake it. Slowly and with difficulty
I too climbed the fence, but I slipped as I was prepar-
ing for the drop, and I hit the ground hard with chest
and cheek, and was knocked unconscious.

I don’t know how long I lay there. When I pulled
dizzily to my feet and looked about, there was no sign
of Tom. Back in the field I saw the two other men
working in the trench as before, so I knew they had
not seen what had happened. I thought I’d better find
Tom, and struck out in the direction he had been
headed, crossing the side road there and edging
through the barbed-wire fence of the field on the
other side.

With mounting anxiety I ran across the field to the
small wood on the far side. I hurried back and forth

DECEMBER, 1959

among the trees, calling and searching, but there was
no sign of him.

Beyond the wood I continued in the same direction,
as far as I could judge it, climbing fences, crossing
fields, passing the edge of the grounds of Pemberton
General Hospital and bearing straight toward Big
Pond, where Tom and I lived. I ran, when breath
permitted, making wide detours to examine dim ob-
jects in the fields, and hurrying always. In this way I
covered the whole two miles to the town, but found
no trace of him.

At the town I made a real stop for the first time. As
my breath came back my wits did, too, I realized I had
witnessed an event fantastic beyond credibility. How
could I tell anyone what I had seen? I'd not be be-
lieved. People would only think me crazy. I decided to
keep mum until I'd found Tom,

I set in motion again, inquiring for Tom of people
on the streets, but no one had seen him.

I went to his home then, full of a sudden foolish
hope that I'd find Mary there, and perhaps Tom; but
the house was dark and no one answered my knock. I
entered and looked about. A tiny kitten came rubbing
and squeaking against my ankles.

I phoned Wilson's. The watchman supposed Tom
was still back in the field— and yes, the horse was still
tied to a tree in front. He’d not seen Mary leave the
field, either, nor me. When he started to ask questions
I hung up.

I suppose I'd still been hoping that what I'd seen
had somehow not happened; but the watchman killed
that hope.

I was greatly worried about Tom and how his fan-
tastic pursuit may have ended. I decided to stay right
there until he returned. He’d certainly come home.
After we'd compared notes, we’d report together what
had happened. I cleaned the bruise on my cheekbone,
then settled down to wait. I was very tired. A long
time passed, and I fell asleep.

II

W hen i awoke it was daylight, and the kitten, a
tiny puff of fur, was sitting on my chest looking
cryptically into my face. At once I phoned Wil-
son’s. Tom had not reported back from the field and
the other two men had gone home wondering. The
horse was still there. I told them nothing.

I'd hardly hung up when the phone rang. It was
the Pemberton General Hospital. They wanted to
speak to Mrs. Sellers. When I said she wasn't there
and told who I was they asked me to come to the
hospital. Tom was there and wanted to speak to me.
I hurried home, backed out my car and drove over.
I found Tom in a small room, alone, strapped on a
cot. His forehead was covered by a patch of white
bandage, and over the patch lay his ever-unruly lock
of red hair. At once, with a wild surge of hope and
fear, he asked:

“Jack, you saw it?”

He was hoping the thing hadn’t occurred.

“It happened,” I said. "I’ve been waiting for you
to come home. Why are you here?”

Before he could answer a nurse entered and asked
who I was. She told me Tom was picked up near State
Park; he was lying in the road, bruised and delirious.
“You’ve got him strapped down!” I said accusingly.
“He’s been violent. He kept trying to get away. It
was only a little while ago he told who he was and
asked us to phone his wife. He also wanted to reach
you.”

Tom said, “Make them take off these straps. Jack.”

“Take them off,” I urged the nurse. “You can see
he’s all right now. He’s had a bad shock, that’s all. I
know all about it. I was there.”

The nurse left to consult the doctor in charge. Tom
at once turned a tortured face to me.

“It was her— head?” he asked, still doubting his
memory,

“Yes.”

“She hasn’t been home?” he asked, still hoping, or
perhaps confused.

“No. And Pinto’s still tied outside the Lab.”
“Then it’s so,” he said. “It's really so.”

“What became of the— her head?" I asked.

“Gone! Gone! Sunk! Jack, what happened?”

“I don't know. It’s something new. Something that’s
never happened before,”

Tom’s expression was pitiful. He cried, “It was just
her head! Where was her body?”

“I don't know. It disappeared. There was just that
crack, and the smoke, and then-nothing else.”

His eyes filled with tears.

“Where is she?” he cried in anguish.

I heard footsteps and barely had time to say, "Don’t
tell them anything!” when the nurse entered with a
doctor.

That started an argument. Tom demanded his
clothes so he could sign himself out; the doctor ex-
lained that his physical condition was uncertain and
e should remain until the next day. It was finally
agreed that he could leave that evening, if he seemed
all right at that time. The doctor told the nurse she
could remove the straps.

“I’ll be back for you after supper,” I promised Tom.
“Try to get some sleep.”

With haunted eyes Tom watched me leave. But he
remembered Pinto, and called out to me to take her
home and feed her.

I know nothing about horses, so I drove back to
Big Pond, picked up a handyman I knew there, and
drove him to Wilson’s to do it for me.

Then, since I was right at the Lab and had an obli-

g ition to report, I decided to tell the whole story to
r. William Chambers, the director and head. I took
the flight of stairs to his offices and asked to see him.
Mr. Merriam, the superintendent, took me in.

Dr. Chambers is a tall, lean, friendly man, talkative
and always approachable, so I boldly told him what
had happened. But he didn’t believe me. He only sat
there and looked at me. He didn’t even say anything,
and neither did Mr. Merriam. I pointed to corrobora-
tive details— Mary’s not going home on Pinto, Tom’s
disappearance from the field and his presence in the
hospital— and he only looked at me oddly. I became
excited and raised my voice, and that didn’t help any.
Of course I had that raw bruise, I wasn’t shaved, and
my story certainly was wild. I left him rather abruptly,
before he should tell me I was fired, or maybe try to
have me held for observation:

I couldn't blame him.

B efore x left the premises I went out into the field
and made a hurried search for some sign of
Mary's body, or some indication of -what hap-
pened, but I found nothing. I drove home then, ate,
undressed, bathed, shaved, and lay down; but I
couldn’t sleep.

After supper I drove back to the hospital. It was
dark before Tom and I got away. In the hospital I’d
seen him keep up some appearance of normality, but
as soon as he was in the car he slumped back, the hurt
man he was. I told him about my seeing Dr. Cham-
bers, and how I’d searched the field. I was very curious

about what had become of the head, but I couldn’t
get him to talk. He sat sealed in bitterness, and
appeared not even to hear what I said.

When we arrived at his home he just sat in the car
and turned his head away.

“We’re here,” I announced. After a moment, halt-
Singly, he said:

"You go in first and . . . and ... see if she’s there.”

It was pathetic. I went in and looked through every
room, the kitten following me, squeaking. Mary’s
things lay here and there about the house, especially
in the bedroom, but Mary wasn’t there, of course, and
never would be again. I went out and told him. He
sighed.

“I’m afraid to go in,” he confessed. "Would you
mind if I stayed at your place tonight?”

I said I’d be glad to have him; I didn’t want to leave
him alone in that silent house.

“There’s a little kitten,” he said; “it must be hun-
gry, Will you go in and feed it? There 1 !! be something
in the refrigerator. I’ll go tend to Pinto."

He got out of the car and went around back. I went
in and fed the kitten. It was extremely hungry. When
Tom came I drove over to my home.

My father was there, but we bypassed him and fixed
some drinks in the kitchen. After we’d brought them
to the living room we told him what had happened.

At first he too was incredulous. When he began to
believe, he was so affected that for a moment he
stuttered.

“What happened?” Tom asked him eagerly.

Dad’s a mechanical engineer, but of course he didn’t
know.

"It was mostly the head!” Tom cried. “It didn’t fall,
it floated. It floated eastward in a straight line, right
through the fence, right across the road and field and
the trees on the other side and through everything it
met. It went right across our old farm. It went lower
at the pond, and passed a little above the surface. I
got around the pond in time to find it on the other
side. It went on and on. But when it came to the lake
this side of State Park it just skimmed the surface, and
I think it sank under, because I didn’t see it any more.
How can that be?”

Of course we had nothing to answer.

"It seems to me it was lighter, I mean thinner, a
little transparent, toward the end. As if it were dis-
solving. And there was something more. I thought I
began to see the outline of Mary’s body with the head.
Just a hint of it. But I’m not sure. It was way out over
the water.”

We sat for a moment, wondering about this.

“One thing is clear,’’ I pointed out to my father:
“The object didn’t obey gravity. I guess I ought to
say it seemed not to obey gravity, because nothing
can be independent of it. The object didn’t fall. So it
may have something to do with other dimensions.
Something special to do with space, time, matter, elec-
tricity, gravity. I don’t know how to put it in words,
properly. We know there are extra dimensions in
mathematics, but they’re just concepts, abstractions;
useful in calculations, but without a corresponding
reality. Of course there’ve been theories and stories
which dealt with the material reality of other
dimensional states. Could this be the clue?”

Dad thought it over. “It seems more likely than
anything else-though to say that doesn’t explain any-
thing,” he answered. "I don’t know any more about
such things than you. You'd have to talk to a
theoretical physicist.”

“Herzog!” I exclaimed. “He'd know, wouldn’t he?
All that publicity given to his Comprehensive Field

Theory. That includes gravity.”

“His theory is only a theory," Dad said. “Further-
more, it’s known to be imperfect. It has a flaw. It’s a
magnificent thing, a big step forward; it neatly recon-
ciles previous inconsistencies; but physicists say there’s
one phenomenon that doesn’t jibe with it. They call
it the Exception. They say Herzog is working to ac-
count for the inconsistency— he and the other top
theoretical physicists in the world.”

“Do you think he might be able to explain what
happened?” Tom asked.

“It’s very doubtful,” said my father. He got up and
took a thin pamphlet from the bookcase. “Here’s his
Field Theory. Twenty-one pages, almost all of it sym-
bols and equations. All condensed at the end into
four short equations. And maybe contains an error.
They’re not even sure.” He opened the pamphlet at
random, shrugged, and handed it to Tom. Tom looked
helplessly in it here and there.

“Thousands like that were sold, and almost all are
mere souvenirs. In the entire world there’s only a
handful of men who can understand what he's done
there. Only the specialists, the top scientific brains. To
the public— you— me— the book’s only a bit of curiosa,
something to strike awe, proof that the world is
wonderful and that genius exists.”

There was a silence, while Tom thumbed through
the few pages. “Then the secret lies in this," he said
hopelessly.

“Perhaps.”

“And hardly anybody can understand it."

"Hardly anybody.”

"Space and time and matter and electricity and
gravity ... I’m an electrician and I use only a dozen
symbols and equations. Here there’s a bookful. And
somewhere in them it explains where Mary is. Or
what happened to her.”

Tom sobbed and tossed the book to the other end
of the sofa. After a moment he reached for it and
leafed through it again. He said:

“Where does Herzog live?”

"Somewhere in the city.”

“He could tell me ... Do you think Dr. Chambers
at Wilson’s understands this?”

“Possibly,” Dad answered. “He’s a very big man.”
“Don’t look for any help from him,” I warned Tom.
“I told you how he didn't believe me this morning.”
Conversation stalled. I saw tears in Tom’s eyes.
Suddenly he blurted:

“If Mary’d just died, that wouldn’t have been so
bad. Oh, it would be bad, but it wouldn’t be like this!
Is she dead? I mean dead like other people who die.
Can you tell me that?”

“Of course she’s dead,” I said. “Even if her head and
body exist somewhere, they may be separate. That
could happen in an ordinary explosion: part of the
body can disappear, the rest is found. If they're to-
gether— if you really did see her body at the end— they
would have to be in a different condition, a different
state of matter.”

“Why didn’t this ever happen to anybody before?”
“Perhaps the required conditions never existed be-
fore,” Dad said. “There’s never been a setup like the
one at Wilson’s. Think of it— artificial lightning— out-
doors— the great scale. The high towers, the Van de
Graaff generators, the tremendous capacitors, the big
field laced with trenches containing carriers, some of
new types under test— all this, unique. The carriers
may have been transmitting currents at highly critical
values— not necessarily large, but critical— and what
happened may have been the result of a step function.
At one set of values everything’s as usual. Add one

DECEMBER, 1953

45

ampere somewhere and there’s a sharp change, a new
phenomenon. Something like that.”

This made sense to me, but it hardly helped Tom
that evening. Again and again he exclaimed, “If she
could only just have diedl So she could have been
buried. Like other people. Her complete body.”
There was no way to comfort him. Eventually we
went to bed. 1 put Tom in the spare room and stayed
until he had undressed and lay down. In my own
room, worn out, I quickly fell asleep.

Ill

I didn't sleep long. I dreamed that I heard someone
downstairs phoning, then, some time after that, I
woke to a noise in the room. When I switched on
the light, there stood Tom, fully dressed. He said:
"I’ve found out where Herzog lives. I’m going to
go ask him.”

“For heaven’s sake go back to bed,” I cried, coining
awake.

“He’s the only one who can explain what
happened.”

“I don’t believe he can explain it,” I retorted. “And
if he could, he wouldn’t. Do you think you can go
barging in on him in the middle of the night? Go
back to bed. We’ll see what we can do tomorrow.”

“I can’t wait, Jack— I can’t stand it!” he exclaimed.
“I want you to come with me. If you won’t. I’ll go
alone.”

Impetuous, stubborn— that was Tom all over. I
couldn’t dissuade him. More than a little angry, I got
up and dressed. I decided that my part in the excur-
sion would be to try and keep him out of jail.

Tom pushed the car from the garage to the street.

“Herzog."

m

so we wouldn’t wake Dad, and gradually as I drove
toward the city my anger left me. I tried to talk Tom
into returning, but it was a waste of breath. We
crossed the Triboro Bridge and passed across town. It
was a little after two o’clock when we stopped in front
of the address—a narrow four-story private house on
the western edge of Washington Heights overlooking
the Hudson.

The neighborhood was lonely and deserted. Few
lights showed in the blocks of apartment buildings
toward the east, none showed in Herzog’s house. I felt
like a criminal, to be invading the midnight privacy of
the great man on Tom’s irrational quest. I made one
last attempt to dissuade him.

“We just can’t do this, Tom! Whoever’d come to the
door would be sore as hell. They wouldn't wake him;
they’d just have us arrested!”

But stubbornly Tom said, “Herzog's up. He works
all night, everybody knows that.”

I temporized. “Then let’s see first if there’s a light in
the back of the house. If there’s no light we go back.”

I got him to promise. We left the car and found a
way to a rear court through a service passageway in
the adjoining building. Above us, in the top floor of
Herzog’s house, were two lighted windows. I groaned.
Without a word Tom led me back to the front of the
house and pushed the door button.

We heard the buzz, and waited. There was no re-
sponse. Tom rang again, longer, then rang several
more times, but no one came.

“Well, that's that,” I whispered with relief, “He’s
working and no one’s going to answer.”

Tom tried the knob and pushed. The door opened.
He whispered, “We’ll go to him,” and entered, and
after hesitating a moment I followed, stifling my
protests.

Not a sound reached us in the narrow hallway;
everyone seemed asleep. A night light at the second-
floor landing lit faintly the carpeted stairs. On tiptoe
we went up. Twice more dim landing lights showed
the way, and we found ourselves on the top floor.

Ahead was a partly opened door, and sharply
through it came light from the room we’d seen from
the courtyard in back. Tom tiptoed to it, I following.
We looked into a large room shelved with books. To
the left were a writing desk and chair. At the far end,
between the two rear windows, was a large flat table,
and seated on the other side of it, reading, was the
man we had come to see.

I stared at him. This was Herzog, greatest of theo-
retical physicists. This the famous head and face, dif-
ferent, pictured thousands of times in the newspapers
of the world. As in the pictures, both head and face
were covered by an even mat of cinnamon-colored
bristles half an inch or so long. The eyebrows were
other bristles to match. The all-over fur made his
head seem even larger than it was, and it hid com-
pletely the expression of his face. Set in the middle
was a pair of Old-fashioned pinch-nose glasses.

I said Herzog was reading, but more exactly he was
comparing. To his left, on the table, held open by his
left nand in an upright position, rested a large book;
directly in front stood another, held similarly by his
right hand; and to his right, flat on the table, lay a
third, a pamphlet. The glasses in the center of the
spherical mat would point for a little at one book,
then turn and point at another, then point perhaps at
the third; he was reading back and forth among the
books, changing irregularly. We stood almost in the
doorway, but he seemed oblivious of us.

After a moment Tom stepped quietly inside, and I
followed. Herzog didn’t pause in what he was doing.

SCIENCf-RCnON*

I was hot with embarrassment; I’m sure Tom was too,
but he hesitated to interrupt.

We stood there perhaps half a minute, though it
seemed much longer; then, with the briefest of glances
at us, Herzog said quietly, "Go away,” and at once was
back at his work.

We stood there like a couple of idiots, paralyzed. I
was more than ever determined to let Tom be the
criminal. Another moment passed.

“Go away,” Herzog said a second time, again with
the brief glance. He was so quickly back at his com-
paring that we were put further off balance. Yes, like
idiots we stood there, but we were so surprised! There
was this unique man, working at supremely high level
through the night, while for miles around him, hori-
zontal, the millions of the great city slept— and there
were we, strangers, illegal enterers, who’d crept up
through the silent house to this room— intruders of
unknown intention, cranks or dangerous men, for all
he knew-and he showed no alarm, not even concern,
but had merely noted peripherally our two presences
and twice lifted his eyes for a flash and said, "Go
away.” What kind of concentration, or poise, or fear-
lessness, was this?

At last Tom cleared his throat and spoke.

“Mr. Herzog.”

For a moment the comparing continued, then the
physicist looked up.

“Will you go away,” he said, and this time there was
irritation in his voice.

“Please, Mr. Herzog,” said Tom, “—it’s very impor-
tant— we’ve come— I think you'll be interested—” He
stopped, rattled, embarrassed by his bad start.

“Well?”

“Something happened. Out at Wilson’s Laboratory
on Long Island. To my wife. You’re the only one who
can explain it. She was standing in the middle of the
field and she disappeared! All but her head and a
faint outline of her body! It went floating away! I
followed it for miles. It was last night. We think it
might be something about the other dimensions. Yes,
and gravity, because the head didn’t fall; it floated. It
floated along and I followed it. It went right through
the fence! I know it sounds crazy, but it did really.”

I came to Tom's aid. “I saw it too. It was just as he
says. We both work there: I’m an engineer and he’s an
electrician. I told Doctor Chambers, head of the Lab,
but he didn’t believe me, so we’ve come to you as the
only person who might explain it.”

I stopped. For a moment there was silence while
Herzog looked at us— me and my nasty bruise, Tom
and his bandaged forehead. Then the mat of hair
parted at his lips and he said, “Go away.”

At this Tom stepped forward.

“It’s really so!” he cried excitedly. “We’re not crazy,
and it wasn't an illusion; she disappeared, and her
head floated away. She was my wife. Jack here saw
it too!” He paused a moment, got a grip on himself,
then retold the whole story, starting at the beginning
and telling it rather well. Herzog listened without
moving anything but his eyes; he didn’t even lower
the two books he was supporting. When he’d finished
Tom held out something. It was the pamphlet— my
father’s copy of Herzog’s Theory; I hadn’t known
he’d brought it.

"The explanation’s in this,” Tom said; “it's your
book, your Comprehensive Field Theory, I can’t un-
derstand it, hardly anybody can, but you can, because
you wrote it. The head didn’t fall— and your book
Includes gravity. You understand about such things.
I’ve no one else to go to.” He paused, while Herzog
only looked at him. "Oh, don’t you believe me?”

“I believe very little,” Herzog said levelly. “I think
in terms of probability. I find what you tell me ex-
tremely improbable. I might give it a probability of
one in a million. If I could give it a probability of
even one in ten, I would be interested. So would Doc-
tor Chambers. Now I’ve heard your story. Unless
you’ve something to add to it, I must ask you to go
away.”

I could see Tom desperately grasping for a way to
continue the interview. He said;

“Then make believe we’re telling the truth. If it
were as we say, if it were, how would you explain it?
I guess nothing can be done— you can’t bring my wife
back— but if I only knew wliat happened to her! Is
she dead like other people? What about her head?
And why did I maybe see her body at the end? If
you could just help me to understand!”

At that Herzog let drop the two books he had been
holding tilted. He pinched off his glasses.

“Understand?” he cried with apparent irritation.
“What is that? How can we understand anything?
People are born and die: do you understand that?
I don’t. Some men lie and cheat and kill, others lie
and cheat very little, and don’t kill at all: do you un-
derstand that? I don’t. A mouse finds a piece of cheese
and eats it; do you understand that? 1 don’t. I hold
out a book and let go, and it drops to the floor. You
think I understand it? I don’t understand it at all.”

With the last words he picked up the two books,
and immediately was back at work. In one second he
had dismissed us with a finality as sudden and com-
plete as an explosion.

Mumbling thanks and apologies we backed out of
the room. I found myself in the car without memory
of how I got there.

IV

As we passed back across town Tom sat hunched
in the seat beside me, his head lowered, a stricken
j. jA. man . He muttered, "Even he doesn’t under-
stand. No one understands. No one in the world.”

He brooded. As we crossed the Triboro Bridge he
cried out suddenly, “It’s not fair she should go just
then!”

At that moment I didn’t know what he meant. I
went through the motions of trying to comfort him,
and my words exposed a deeper hurt.

“She shouldn’t have gone exactly then,” he said.
“It wasn’t fair. It caught me. Things weren’t right
between us. And now it can never be fixed.”

I kept asking him what he meant. Eventually he
let go a little.

“Something happened between us there in the field.
I got sore. She waved to me— and I didn’t wave back!
And then she was gone, and now I can never do any-
thing about it, never.”

In one of the recurrent flashes of light I saw there
were tears on his cheeks.

“It couldn't have amounted to anything," I ven-
tured. “She wasn't sore at you. I remember when she
came she seemed wonderfully cheerful and happy.”

“That was the cause of it!” he exclaimed. “I’d nev-
er seen her so affectionate near other people. She
brought me a thermos of coffee, she didn’t have to;
I was through at twelve; but she just wanted to see
me. Not for anything special, just wanted to see me.
She didn’t want to wait even three hours. She came
on Pinto. She was a little afraid of Pinto, you know;
but she couldn’t wait three hours, and came riding
Pinto, at night, bringing me coffee and just wanting
to be with me a moment.

DECEMiiR, 1933

47

"I heard her voice. She came running ahead and
I went to meet her. We kissed. I told her she needn’t
have come; but she said, ‘I just wanted to come.’ We
sort of stood holding each other, but I was uncom-
fortable, because I felt the other fellows might be
looking, and I didn’t want them to see us so affec-
tionate. I’m funny that way; I never could show any
soft stuff in front of other people. And especially
those guys; Jerry’d kid me for a month. Mary knew
all that, but that night she just didn’t care. When I
wasn’t expecting it she kissed me on the neck. I got
sore. God forgive me, I got sore! I didn’t want the
other guys to see. I was ashamed. Think of it! Me,
the luckiest guy in the world! But how could I know
what was going to happen!

“I got sore, but it didn’t seem to register. It was
her mood; she was just overflowing with affection,
she just couldn’t help showing it; I think it was the
baby, because I’ve seen her like that at home since
she knew it was coming. So I got sore, and when she
went away she turned and looked back, and I just
stood there, and she waved, and I didn’t wave back.
Oh, Jack, that was a terrible thing to do! But every-
thing would have been all right when I got home;
I was crazy for her to be that way, only not in front
of the other fellows. She waved, and I just stood there.
She waved, and my God, I didn’t wave back! And then
it happened.”

I said, “No one could know what was going to
happen. It was just a tough break that it happened
right then.”

How flat my words were! I couldn’t get to him.
For some time he was silent; then he exclaimed sud-
denly in a low voice:

“If she’d only just have died! I mean, if she had
to die, if she’d only got sick, so I could take care of
her, and been good to her, and then if she’d died I
could bury her, and know where she was. But this
way— where is she? Is she dead like everybody else?
Will I see her when I die? Or will she be somewhere
else?”

I assured him he’d see her.

"But she’s gone— disappeared, except— she went . . .”

“That makes no difference.”

Again he was silent for a little, and in the recur-
rent lights I saw him sitting up, his eyes fixed gloomily
on some point just in front. He said:

“I had to follow her. It seemed to me she was
suffering; that is, at first. Her eyes opened—oh, that
was awful! I thought I saw her lips move. I felt she
was going to say something, or try to; but that was
only for a moment. It floated on, and I couldn’t un-
derstand the expression on her face. I kept trying to;
I ran and looked and looked; I fell down and got up;
I ran around it, looking at it as it turned; but I
couldn’t make it out. There were several times her
eyes opened and closed! I was scared, too. And I was
sick for a while. But she didn’t say or do anything;
she didn’t seem really to try to; she didn’t even seem
to know I was following. How was it she— it— could
pass right through the fence and the trees? It seemed
solid, except toward the end; but I may have been
mistaken. Why did she go under the water?”

I could only tell him that no one could explain
such things. I said, “It was something new, but that
doesn’t mean it was something outside Nature. It’s
just something outside our understanding. Remember
what Herzog said: he didn’t even understand why
the mouse eats the cheese. Or why the book would
fall. It doesn’t explain anything to say that the book
falls because of gravity and the mouse eats because
it’s hungry.”

This sort of thing went on. I couldn’t calm him.
“But this was new . And it had to happen to Mary.
And it had to happen at just the one moment it
shouldn’t have happened. It caught me. It left me
guilty, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I never
can square it with her, I never can say I’m sorry; I
can’t, not for all the rest of my life. It’s not fair.”

Of course it wasn’t fair— but what in life is?
Toward the end Tom grew silent and bitter.

He asked to be dropped at his house, so I pulled
up there. I didn’t want to leave him alone, but he
insisted, and I said I would drop around later in the
day. Dawn was filtering through the trees when I got
home.

This was the day the New Thing was to strike
again.

V

I woke at eleven and at once rang Tom, but there
was no answer. After I had dressed and eaten I drove
over. At sight of the house I was dumbfounded.
It looked as if a tornado had hit it. Every window
was broken, and all around the outside lay a litter
of broken furniture and clothing. Small knots of
neighbors stood about talking and gaping. I got out
of the car and asked what had happened.

Tom had gone crazy, they told me. The police had
taken him away. At about half past six he’d started
throwing things through the windows. He’d com-
pletely lost control of himself. He wrenched apart
tables, threw out lamps and chairs and other stuff,
smashed his TV-radio against the wall, ran upstairs
and broke every window, threw out bedding and
clothing and shoes and furniture, and completely
wrecked the place, upstairs and down.

By the time the police arrived, he had finished.
They found him standing in the doorway, carefully
holding in his cupped hands the body of a dead kit-
ten, and he was starting back to put it in the garbage
can. His face and hands were bloody, they said; tears
ran down and mixed with the blood, and he’d some-
times say things that couldn’t be understood; but he
seemed to be over the violence of the fit. They had
taken him to the station house at Pemberton; and
someone said he’d then been transferred to the psycho
division of Pemberton General Hospital, where he
was being held for observation. He had not resisted.

I went inside the house and looked around. The
lower floor was a total wreck. Upstairs it was the
same. The bedroom was empty except for the bed
frame and a litter of fragments— wood, glass, clothing;
the window was a vacant rectangle, and the mattress
lay outside on the ground.

I was overwhelmed. The poor man! I looked for
the phone, but the wires were ripped out.

At a neighbor’s I called the hospital, but they’d
tell me nothing more than that he’d been admitted.

I drove there, but they wouldn’t let me see him.
The psychiatrist in charge wanted to see me, however,
and I was directed to him.

He said Tom was in a seclusion room, at present
rational and sorry, but bitter and melancholy. He
said Tom had kept asking for me, and the psychiatrist
set out to pump me of everything I knew about Tom’s
background in general and the outbreak in particular.
But he let out he’d been trying to locate Tom’s wife,
and from the way he said it I was sure Tom hadn’t
told what had happened to her, so I kept mum about
it. The doctor seemed quite unhappy about the skimpi-
ness of the information. Unfortunately he knew about
Tom’s being picked up the day before. He said Tom

48

SCIENCE-FICTION +

was under observation. Refused to let me see him.

Though worried about Tom and his confinement,
I went home. There I thought up a tactic for getting
to see him, and after supper I drove back to the
hospital and again saw the doctor. I told him Tom
had always been sane, but that he’d had a shock, and
that anybody in the world might have exploded un-
der the circumstances; I said that Tom’s wife had
gone away and would never be available for ques-
tioning; and I said I had all the information, and
could straighten the whole matter out, but he'd have
to let me speak privately to Tom first, for I’d not do
it without his permission. I made him agree. He him-
self led me back through the psycho building to where
Tom was.

On the way I took in everything I saw. The corri-
dors we passed through were guarded— apparently—
by pairs of attendants in white. Most of the doors
were open, showing rooms just like those of living
apartments on the outside. There was one large room
from which came the sound of music and voices. I
slowed there, and saw over a hundred people, men
and women, all in ordinary street clothes, the greater
part of them dancing and apparently having a good
time. It looked like any other informal dance any-
where, except that the men and women averaged
somewhat older. As I caught up with the doctor I
asked him what the affair was.

"Just the weekly dance,” he told me. “For patients
who’ve sufficiently improved. As far as possible, we
give patients all the experiences of normal social con-
tact that they’d have outside. The big difference is
that we protect them from things likely to be dis-
turbing.”

“But isn’t it dangerous to let them come together
like that?” I asked.

“It’s a very good thing for them."

“I mean, don’t they act irrational in front of each
other? What if they become violent? Won't they set
each other off?”

“It happens, but it’s not common and it does little
harm. They all know why they’re here, and they make
allowances. They understand that their leaving de-
pends on their behavior. Most of them like the dances.
Of course the patients are graded. As they improve
they’re put with more advanced groups and are en-
couraged to take part in wider activities.”

Everything was new and interesting to me. We took
an elevator to the fourth floor. Here I saw there were
no doors on the rooms. In the corridor was another
pair of white-clad attendants. Just beyond them, at
one of the doorless rooms, we came to a stop.

It was a seclusion room. The walls were not padded,
as I’d expected, but were unbroken planes of two-
toned brown plastic. There was no window in the
room and there was only one object there, a large,
low, bare, canvas-covered platform fastened perma-
nently to the middle of the floor.

On one corner of this platform, sitting on his
haunches, arms around knees, sat Tom. He had on
nondescript pajamas. There was a different kind of
bandage under the red lock on his forehead, and in
places on the rest of his face and nearby hands were
ugly patches of iodine stain. His face wore an expres-
sion of sullen brooding. Sitting there so, he looked
like some new kind of dangerous ape-man. But he
was not dangerous at all; he was only my old boyish
friend Tom— impetuous, unlucky, mortally hurt, and
now in a little trouble. At sight of me his face softened
and he got down and came forward.

The psychiatrist showed he intended to hear what
we would say, but I held him to our agreement and

he took a position just outside the door where he
could watch us, while Tom and I withdrew to the
farthest corner of the room and spoke in whispers.
“You know what I did?” Tom asked me shyly.
“Yes, you dope,” I answered. “I think you really are
crazy.”

“Maybe I was,” he said, his face twisting. “For a
while. But I couldn’t stand it. Jack. I was full up.
Mary’s things were all around. I remembered how
we’d had it there— a thousand things,, our plans, the
baby coming, and now her gone, gone that way. That
was what did it. I started smashing things. It gave
me some relief. As soon as I’d finished I was all right
again.”

“Well, it’s too bad. All your stuff is ruined. It isn’t
even junk.”

“I don’t care. I could never live there again.”

“It looks as if you're going to live on that platform
for a while,” I told him.

He didn’t like the thought of that. He told me he
had become perfectly all right by the time the police
arrived. He said they didn't even have to give him
a sedative. He said he did try to escape, though, but
couldn’t manage on account of the attendants. He told
me how they operated.

“It looks easy to get out— no door and the attendants
out of sight; but it can’t be done. I tried twice, but
they caught me and threw me back. Not hurting me,
though, and not even getting mad. They know jiu-
jitsu, and they’re tough babies. They explained things
to me. They don't have doors so the patients won’t
have the feeling they’re caged in and abandoned; also
they want to keep an eye on what’s going on. You’re
at perfect liberty to try to get away; you can try, but
they catch you and throw you right back in. But not
hurting you, no matter what you do to them. You
can try fifty times, and each time you go back. They
say all patients, no matter how screwy, learn pretty
quickly that it’s not profitable to go out the door.”
“You didn’t tell the doctor about Mary, did you?”
I asked.

“No. I’m not that crazy. They’d have kept me here
for keeps. Did you?”

“No, they'd have kept me. But now we've got to
figure some way to get you out of here. The doctor's
beginning to look impatient.”

“What can we tell him?” Tom said gloomily. “He
certainly wouldn't believe the truth.”

I hadn’t been able to think of anything before, and
I couldn’t now. For a moment we stood looking
glumly at each other, fishing for an idea. Seeing us
silent the doctor stepped inside the room.

“Well?”

“My friend won’t let me tell you anything,” I said.
“Both of us can explain his trouble, and if you be-
lieved us you’d let him go; but you wouldn’t believe
us. We don’t know what to«do.”

The doctor didn’t like that. I went on:

“But the facts that concern you are simple. Some-
thing happened to my friend the night before last.
I saw it myself. He had a fit of temper, and you’ve
got him here. If I told you what we saw you’d put
me in the next room,"

The doctor smiled and pshawed and shook his head.
I repeated: “What happened in no concern of yours!
This man’s normal. But he’s impetuous. He had a
fit of temper because something terrible happened
to him, but now it’s all over. It’s perfectly safe to let
him go.”

While I spoke his manner changed. He looked me
squarely in the eyes and asked:

“Where’s his wife?"

mi

This was awkward; I had a vision of Tom held in
that place for weeks while the police searched for
Mary~or her dead body. As I hesitated, seeking the
best answer, the general quiet was broken and the
doctor turned his head and listened. Somewhere in
the distance a woman had begun shrieking— a blood-
chilling sound— and at once others joined in. Quickly
there was a thick confusion of shrieks and cries and
yells and shouts. A terrific excitement was occurring
somewhere; it sounded like panic.

For just a moment the doctor hesitated, then he
said to one of the attendants, “You come with me,"
and the two of them hurried down the hall. Then
there sounded the loud clangor of an alarm bell.

With that, someone nearby started a frantic yelling.
The remaining attendant cried to me, "Take care of
your friend!” and disappeared from sight. I jumped
to the door and saw him wrestling with a male pa-
tient several doors down the corridor. At once I turned
to Tom and said, “It's your chance! Come on!”

We ran down the corridor toward the elevators,
ignoring the attendant's yell to stop. Next to the ele-
vators was the fire escape, and down we hurried sev-
eral steps at a time, the noise of the distant panic
growing louder. On the ground floor I opened the
heavy door and peeked out.

The corridor was a place of wildest confusion.
Scores of patients were milling about in every excess
of behavior— laughing, crying, babbling, shouting, ges-
turing, screaming. It was mass madness in a madhouse.
I couldn’t begin to describe it.

We ventured out among them. Here and there a
pair of attendants were subduing individual patients,
and were having their hands full. I threaded through
the horror as rapidly as possible, leading Tom past the
room where I’d seen the dancing. I saw, then, that
it was the dancers who were panicking. There were
still scores of patients in the room. Two of them were
jerking on the floor in fits. Others were rushing wildly
back and forth, pop-eyed, shrieking, pointing at the
ceiling, threshing their arms and yelling nonsense.
But all this I took in at a glance, for we were working
our way down the corridor.

Until then all the patients I'd seen were dressed in
street clothes; now I began to see some in pajamas.
They seemed to come from an intersecting corridor.
As we pushed through them, one attendant, momen-
tarily free, made a jump for Tom. I straight-armed
him, and as he staggered back we escaped into a wild
group of patients just ahead.

During this time I gave little attention to the yells
of the patients because it was all so crazy, and for this
reason I had no idea what had set them off. We were
fully occupied in shoving a way through.

We reached the point where the corridor opened
into the reception offices. A glance showed that the
entrance doors were guarded. I turned back in the
corridor and entered an outside room. Tom seemed
to read my mind, for as I hurried to one window he
ran to the other. Seconds later we were outside on the
grass.

“Follow me,” I said. “I’ve got the car.”

We ran across the lawn to the gate, Tom in his
pajamas at my heels, and a few minutes later I had
Tom at my home. Dad wasn’t in. I turned on the
radio first thing, for I knew there’d be a bulletin
warning the Island of the escape. I had just assembled
a pair of drinks when it came. The announcer said
in effect:

“A panic is under way in the psychiatric building
of Pemberton General Hospital. The patients are still
out of control. An undetermined number have es-

caped, and relatives and residents of Long Island are
warned to be on the watch for them. They may be
dressed either in ordinary street clothes or in pajamas.
If you see anyone acting strangely, detain them if
possible and call the nearest police station. Be tactful
and watchful, humor them, and don’t be panicked.
They may be excited, but for the most part they won’t
be dangerous.” He gave a list of local police stations
and their phone numbers.

There was no news in that for us. We talked. Tom’s
spirits were sinking, and I tried to cheer him up.

Twenty minutes later, on our second drink, there
came a second bulletin, shocking. Interrupting a pro-
gram of dance music, the announcer said:

“It was a mass hallucination that caused the panic
among the mental patients of Pemberton General Hos-
pital, according to information reaching our news-
room. It occurred among a group of a hundred
advanced patients who were assembled at a dance.
Patients say that suddenly, as they danced, two heads
appeared in the air at one end of the room. They were
human heads, with faint outlines of their bodies, and
they floated across the room a little below the ceiling.
Both were men’s heads, they say, and one of them had
a small moustache. The objects floated to the opposite
wall and passed through it. The panic followed at
once. Dr. R. A. Connolly, head of the Psychiatric
Division, states that the panic was due to contagious
hysteria. Dr. Connolly is now at the scene and the
patients are rapidly being brought under control. It
is now thought that only a few escaped. Hospital of-
ficials are sure that the incident is over. Patients and
attendants are being questioned in an effort to dis-
cover how the mass hallucination started . .

VI

T om and I looked at each other, aghast. Again the
New Thing had struck. A second wonder had oc-
curred, and two more human beings had been
caught and killed. In a whisper, Tom said:

“It was my crew. Jerry had a small moustache. It
was Jerry and old man Williams. It’s the same time of
night, and it was the same as Mary. It must have been
the same spot of the field.”

“And the heads took the same direction,” I added.
“This time through the psycho building of the hos-
pital, last time passing the edge of the grounds."

“So I have murdered two more people,” Tom mur-
mured.

“Why do you say that?”

“I should have warned the other fellows. I should
have told them about Mary,”

“They wouldn't have believed you.”

“Maybe not, but they might have avoided that spot.
At least I could have tried. But I didn’t even think
about them. All I could think about was Mary. And
now they’re gone too.”

He went on, morbidly accusing himself. I said:
“But Tom, you were in the hospital all day. I
warned the Lab; I did it for both of us; but Doctor
Chambers wouldn't believe me. And you can’t blame
him. Why, we didn’t dare even to tell them at the
hospital. It just couldn’t be helped. It was something
new that happened, and we couldn’t be expected to
suppose it would repeat.

“Now snap out of it. We’ve got to do some talking
to somebody, and it's not quite simple. You’re a fugi-
tive from the nuthouse, and I’m guilty of helping you
escape. You haven't even any clothes— look at you,
in pajamas; all you’ve got left in the world are at
the reception room, in the hands of the attendants at

the hospital, and eventually the booby men will be
here looking for you. We’ve got to get away from the
house, but first you’ve got to have some clothes.
Mine’ll fit you loose— mighty loose— but it can’t be
helped. Come on upstairs.”

I got him into one of my old suits, one I wore when
I was thinner, but it wasn’t too good. I was a little
worried about his behavior. He tended to talk mor-
bidly. He moved as if in a dream. When I tried to
rouse him— kidding, for instance, about the fit of the
suit— he didn’t even seem to hear what I said.

My idea was to go off somewhere in the car and
make a plan; but as we were leaving the phone rang.
Something made me answer it, and I was glad I did.
It was Doctor Chambers, head of Wilson's. He asked:
“Have you heard what’s happened at Pemberton
General?”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“The watchman caught the radio bulletin and told
Merriam, and he checked by phone, and it’s true;
there was a panic, and it was over two floating heads
and their indistinct bodies— two more! What’s going
on? Of course it was only a mass hallucination, but
Merriam says that two of our men working in the
field have disappeared— and why should the patients
have the same hallucination as you? I’m going to the
Lab at once. I want you to meet me there. Find Tom
Sellers and bring him. Where is he?”

“Right here with me,” I answered, and briefly I
told him about the commitment and escape.

“Has his wife turned up?” he asked.

“No, and you’ve been told why.”

"My God! Well, bring him. Leave as soon as you
can. And keep your mouths shut. Has either of you
told anyone besides me?”

“Only my father. But I warned him not to say any-
thing.”

“Don't tell anybody! We don't want to look like
fools. Of course there’s some reasonable explanation.
Say— the watchman said one of the heads had a small
moustache, and Merriam tells me one of our two men
had a small moustache. Ask Sellers if that’s so.”
“He’s already told me it’s so. And I know the man
myself. It’s Jerry.”

“What’s really happening? Well, I’ll be right down.
You leave at once.”

He hung up. I explained the conversation to Tom
and started out the door, but he was slow to move
and there was a sly look on his face.

“What's the matter?” I asked.

“Maybe Doctor Chambers can get Mary back,” he
said.

“Oh stop it, Tom! This isn’t normal behavior!”

“It wasn’t anything normal what happened,” he
came back. “What if our seeing her was only a hal-
lucination? If she isn’t dead there may be a way to
get her back. I’ve read about things like that. She
could, just be in some other dimension."

My irritation became pity. “Tom, she’s gone. Why
do you go on torturing yourself? Don’t. It’s all over.
Get used to it.”

I got him in the car. He maintained silence, and
I knew my words hadn’t made any impression.

Merriam met us at the Lab, and we’d hardly climbed
to the second floor when we heard Doctor Chambers’
car arrive. In a moment he joined us.

“No sign of the two men?” he asked Merriam.
“None."

Doctor Chambers shook his head. He said, “If their

wives phone, stall them off.”

“Yes, sir,”

The Chief led us into his office and asked us to be

seated. From his desk he turned to Tom and said:
“Tell us what happened that night, Tom. I want
to know every' single thing in order, just as it occurred.”
Tom told his story. At certain points both men
questioned him closely. I told what happened from
my point of view. When we finally were squeezed dry
of information we all sat silent for a moment; then
Doctor Chambers shook his head.

"No, no,” he said, “it can’t be. It just can’t. Extra
dimensions exist only on paper; they’re nothing but
abstractions, useful in mathematics. It’s never hap-
pened, it never will happen, it can’t happen."

“I’ve the feeling Mary’s alive somewhere,” Tom
said.

“She's not in any other dimension, if that’s what
you mean. That would be magic.”

Still hopeful, Tom suggested, “I know it's some-
thing that’s never happened before— but there’s never
been a setup like the one in the field.”

“Are you out of your mind? Two different things
happened, one to the head and one to the body. Even
assuming for a moment that you did see them together
at the end, and that they still exist somewhere, do
you imagine there was no damage done? . . . Forgive
me, Tom, that was crude. But you’re being morbid.
You have to learn to face the facts.” He reached for
a rolled-up blueprint at one side. “Is this the print
of the field installation?”

“Yes, sir,” said Merriam.

He was already unrolling it. He studied it a mo-
ment, then he had Tom and me indicate the exact
places everybody had stood the first night. I pointed
out that tire spot fatal to Mary was on a footpath
leading to the exit in the main building— the path
which would be used also by the missing men. He
didn’t comment, but after a moment picked up several
small white rolls.

“These the tapes?”

“Yes, sir.”

He unrolled and studied them for a little. Then
he questioned Tom and me closely, to ascertain as
nearly as possible the exact lime of the first blow.
Our best estimate was 9:20 p.m.

“That’s also the time the panic started,” Merriam
pointed out.

The Chief’s mouth tightened. For some time he
studied the tapes. At last he raised Ins eyes. He said:
"These tapes contain time-change graphs of all cur-
rents and voltages in the carriers of our outdoor cir-
cuit. Tests were being run both evenings, but the
values were extremely small.”

He hesitated, then added, “But perhaps they were
critical.”

Again he hesitated, then repeated one word, “Per-
haps.”

A moment later, as if making a reluctant admission,
he added, “At 9:20 on both evenings the values were
identical.”

This was significant! We all sat digesting this, and
he went on, “It was surely nothing dimensional: that’s
most improbable. But something certainly happened.
It was of fantastic nature. It happened twice. Each
time it appears to have happened under indentical
conditions of time and place.”

He stopped and sat thinking. I ventured:

“We were wondering if it can be explained by the
Comprehensive Field Theory.”

“Herzog could answer that better than I.”

Tom and I told him about our interview with Her-
zog, and he listened carefully. When we’d finished
he said:

“It’s clear Herzog didn’t believe you. He didn’t

si nm m

51

. , all currents at the critical values.'

face the problem. His lecture on understanding, while out where Mary was, and perhaps somehow pull her
true enough, was mere generalities. But the situation’s back! It was pathetic,
different now. There’s been a repetition under iden-
tical conditions.” He sat thinking. “I think I’ll call VII

on Herzog. I confess, at this moment it does look like

magic. At any rate it’s not something for me to try ■V*7Thile we were gone Doctor Chambers had be-
to handle alone . . . \\J gun assembling the special troops needed in the

“I foresee, to investigate this may be a terrific prob- * ▼ coming assault upon the Unknown. He glued
lem, requiring a great deal of work. We shall have to himself to the phone, summoning certain of the older
move fast, for Merriam says both men of last night’s members of his staff and several of the lesser employes,
crew are married, and at anytime we’re going to begin then putting through long-line calls to a number of
having inquiries from their wives. After a little of outstanding scientists of the East— shocking them to
that the reporters will be on us , , . Merriam, please full wakefulness, extracting promises of secrecy, and
see if you can reach Herzog on the phone.” persuading them to come to the Laboratory at once.

This proved impossible; the number was unlisted. Upon our arrival he at once took Herzog into his
At once Doctor Chambers ordered Tom and me to office and remained closeted with him. Tom and I,
go for him, and we waited while he wrote a note. floating around, found some of the Lab employes
We drove back to the city, then, Tom more than already there, each with an assignment. A young staff
ever buoyed with irrational hope. This time Herzog’s engineer had been stationed at the switchboard with
door was locked, and we had to make a disturbance strictest orders to complete no outgoing calls; manual
before someone— a housekeeper, I think— came to the workers had been set to guard all entrances to the
door. She wouldn’t let us in, but took the note to field and main building and the stairs to the upper

Herzog. He came down and listened, through a nar- floors; and there was activity in the machine shop,

row opening of the door, to our story of the new Curiosity was high, but we pretended the same ignor-
developments. He seemed skeptical, but went back ance as the others.

in and phoned Doctor Chambers; then he followed Soon the first of the summoned scientists arrived—
us to the Lab in a taxi, obviously unwilling to trust Dr. Mangin, famous biophysicist— and immediately

himself with us in our car. Not unnaturally. Tom was taken into the Chief’s office. On his heels came

certainly looked wild with his bandage and iodine Professor Downing, chemist and Nobelist; then Doctor
stains and baggy suit. Polakoff, nuclear physicist. At irregular intervals others

Tom said little on the way back, but I, who knew arrived and went in, several with equipment they
him so well, could tell he was throbbing with hope, brought with them. Some time before dawn Tom and
For Herzog was committed, now! Herzog himself was I were summoned through the switchboard,
on his way to meet the problem! Herzog would find Eleven men were sitting about the Chief’s desk.

32

scitti€s.ncnoN+

some of them world-famous, several of them members
of his staff, all of them masters in their fields. They
were of many ages, but their manner was uniformly
grave. They looked at us in dead silence as we en-
tered. Merriam placed chairs for us at one side of the
Chief’s desk.

Doctor Chambers introduced us, saying it was we
who had been the witnesses. He tactfully asked Tom
if continual reminders of his tragedy would be too
painful, and was told they would not. He indicated
to us the seated group.

“These gentlemen whose faces you don’t know are
scientists, come at my urgent summons. They’ve been
told all the facts, and together they have the special
knowledge and abilities which make them competent
to investigate our problem. The problem is a new one,
startling. It appears to be one involving what laymen
call the dimensions. It promises to be extremely diffi-
cult, and it will require all our combined resources
to deal with it. We may fail. But we're going to try.

“We’ve discussed a number of aspects of the situa-
tion and have decided on the preliminary moves. We
attack at dawn. ’Attack’ is the word, for the phenom-
enon which has struck twice is like a murdering
enemy. The attack will be made by the scientists you
see here, together with several others yet to arrive. We
are all "generals.” It will be an action of generals.
Except for you two, only we generals will know what
we are about, and even you, I’m sure, won’t fully un-
derstand what we do. It’s of utmost importance that
no one outside this room learn what happened or sus-
pect what we shall be doing; the newspapers would
have reporters swarming over the place, distracting
us and interfering with our work.

“We’re in a most vulnerable position. The men out-
side are curious. Their wives will be gossiping. The
wives of the two men who disappeared last night will
be phoning at any time. There must be no leak until
after 9:20 tonight, at least— for at that time we’ll
make a major experiment. No leak! No remarks be-
fore the other men, and all conferences and conver-
sations here, behind closed doors!

"You two men are in a special position, so we will
employ you as is indicated. We have work for you all
day. This is the situation and our intentions:

“On Tuesday evening at about 9:20 you witnessed
the first phenomenon. The sensory data were of sev-
eral kinds: a crack, a cloud, the disappearance of the
body of the woman, and the floating away of her head.
We know the exact spot where the event occurred.
Two evenings later, on Thursday, again about 9:20,
a repetition of the phenomenon must have occurred.
This time many witnesses a mile away saw the floating
heads, but nothing more. The question arises: Did
both the woman and the men disappear from the same
spot? For theoretical reasons it’s probable they did;
but we need data. Our first object, then, will be to
ascertain the number and locations of all active spots
in the field, if more than one. Our next object will
be to test the daylight behavior of the active spots.
We must do this in time for tonight’s major experi-
ment.

"The surface of the entire field must be examined.
But— the two phenomena involved the space above
the surface. Furthermore, at the necks of the three vic-
tims there occurred a difference in phenomena: below
them one thing happened, above them another. So
we must examine also the space above the surface.
There’s no telling how high the activity extends, but
today, in our limited time, we shall probe up to ten
feet.

“All right, then, the surface of the field must be

examined, and the space just above it must be probed
—and you two, being young and vigorous, will be of
help to us there. I’ve had a dowser made. That’s as
good a name as any.” He smiled slightly. “It’s ready
now, in the machine shop. You two men will carry it,
if you’re willing. It’s in two connected parts; each of
you will carry one part. The largest element of each
part is a 20-foot pole. Fastened to the forward end
of the pole, at a right angle to it, is a ten-foot cross-
piece. Attached to the crosspiece at intervals are heavy
cords which run to similar positions on the crosspiece
of the pole carried by the other man. The poles will
be carried horizontally, the crosspieces sticking up
vertically, ahead. Each of the two parts will be sup-
ported by a shoulder harness attached at the position
of balance.

“The cords are thirty feet long. They allow the
probing of a slice of field thirty feet wide and ten feet
high. Since the field is cut into irregular sections by
the trenches, you will probe the sections one at a time,
going systematically up and down and holding the
crosspiece ends straight ahead, the cords taut. You
will proceed slowly, eyes on the cords. If anything
abnormal happens to any part of the cords, it will
indicate an active place— but the place will be well
in front of you. The part of the pole behind will
serve as a counterbalance, to make the carrying easier.

“But you’ll be accompanied. Alongside and behind
you will follow all but two of the men in this room,
and perhaps others who will be arriving. Some of us
will watch the ropes, others will carry instruments
sensitive to radiation and certain field effects, others
will examine the surface of the ground for signs of an
abnormal condition; these tasks already have been ap-
portioned. The younger of us will take brief turns at
the dowser, to spell you. Mr. Hofkin will be stationed
at the switches. Mr. Merriam will continue in full
charge of this building, our base.

“Ideally we should cover the field twice, the first
time examining and probing with no current in the
carriers, the second time probing with the currents
at the critical values shown on the tapes. But we
haven’t time. We’ll probe once, with the critical cur-
rents on. That may discover any areas where there’s
activity. Very probably there’s only the one ... Well,
these are the first steps. Is what I’ve said clear?” he
asked, looking at us with a faint smile.

We told him it was. He asked Tom:

"It won’t upset you too much, helping us in this

way?”

“Oh, no, sir.” Tom was eager.

“Are either of you afraid?”

We told him we weren’t. He glanced out the win-
dow.

“We’ve had to wait for daylight, but now it’s light
enough to begin. You two get the dowser and wait for
us in the field. All right, we’re ready gentlemen. Let’s
go check our instruments.” .

All rose, and a buzz of conversation started. At once
he warned them, “Watch every word you say!”

Tom and I got the dowsers and passed wrAout chal-
lenge through the guarded door to the field; we found
out later that we’d been given the run of the place, like
the scientists. We adjusted the harnesses, then looked
out across the early morning field. The sun had just
touched the horizon; it was cool and lovely, the begin-
ning of a beautiful spring day; but ahead, among the
upthrust towers, lay the Unknown, and my heart beat
rapidly. Tom’s face was a mirror of hope.

The scientists soon joined us with their instruments.
Doctor Chambers said, “The field is alive, now; all
currents at the critical values. We’ll do this section

DECEMBER, 1953

S3

“ They were pink, fluted stubs.”

first, then take the others around the outside in turn,
working toward the center.”

At his words I settled the band at my shoulder, sep-
arated from Tom to the full width of the cords, and
then all of us, as one team, began to probe a slice of
the section along the nearest trench.

We proceeded just as Doctor Chambers had ex-
lained. It was real work. The dowser halves were
eavy to begin with, and quickly grew much heavier.
Before long we all took a short rest, and later Tom
and I were glad to be relieved briefly by pairs of the
younger scientists. Some of them, too, needed the stops
for rest, for several of the instruments were bulky and
heavy.

I n the followtng hours we probed the whole field,
except the central section. There was little talking,
each man keeping intent on his assigned task— either
examining the field or watching his instrument or the
cords ahead. Two new faces joined us. Twice Mr.
Merriam himself brought us sandwiches and coffee.
We found no area of activity, and nothing untoward
happened.

It was with apprehension and extra care that we
tackled the triangular central section. This time, at
the Chiefs direction, we probed first along the bound-
aries of the three trenches. We found nothing.

We were not far from the known fatal spot, making
a second pass inside the first one, when someone cried,
“Stop! The cords!”

Everybody froze and looked. Tom and I held the
dowser cords as taut as we could, but on Tom's side
they would not hold still. There was a slight motion

in them, a wave or vibration. At Doctor Chambers’
order we took a small step forward. The motion
seemed to increase. He called out:

“Anything show on your instruments?”

“No," was the answer. “Nothing.” “No change.”

“No charge at all? No radiation? No magnetism?”

“No. No. None.”

Like field dogs we pointed the center of disturbance
on the cords.

"One more small step,” ordered the Chief.

We obeyed, and the motion this time increased defi-
nitely. I watched fascinated.

“Any indications?"

Again the answers came back: No, no change, none,
nothing.

Doctor Chambers dropped a square of white cloth
at Tom’s feet, then he ordered, “Back up and we’ll
have a look at the cords.”

They examined the cords and found no sign of
damage or change.

“All right, move left,” Doctor Chambers said. “We’ll
approach from the adjoining segment. Careful!”

He didn’t have to warn us. We backed, moved side-
wise, and again felt toward the fatal spot. Again came
the unnatural movement in the cords, and once more
he dropped a white cloth marker at Tom’s feet.

“Nothing on your instruments?” he asked.

There was nothing.

He ordered us back for another approach on the
next segment, and dropped a marker as before. In that
way, moving with great caution, a rough circle of
about 40 feet in diameter was marked out. In the cen-
ter of the circle was the known fatal spot.

At that point the Chief had us back away and probe
over the top of every trench in the field, but we found
nothing. In all the field, then, there was evidence of
abnormal activity only at one place. We returned and
stood looking at the circle, resting, wondering, the
scientists making comments of a technical nature
which in part I didn’t understand. They seemed struck
chiefly by the fact that none of their instruments had
reacted to the strange activity.

Doctor Chambers broke our inaction. “Now we'll
examine the ground there," he said, and he sent me
back to Mr, Hofkin at the switch panel with an order
to cut ail currents. I hurried, telling Hofkin briefly
what we had found. Upon returning I found the sci-
entists in a ring at the border of the marked area, their
instruments laid aside. Slowly they closed in toward
the center, scrutinizing carefully the ground in front
of them as they advanced. Several times one of them
went down on his knees to look more closely at some-
thing, while the rest stopped where they were. Gradu-
ally they neared the fatal spot at the center. I was in
back of the ring, but I could see that the central area
seemed different from the rest of the field. It was bare
there; the weeds, elsewhere knee-high, were missing,
so that there was no evidence that the footpath passed
through it. •*>.

The men were nearly elbow to elbow, when one,
then another next to him, went down on hands and
knees and brought their heads close to something they
saw on the ground. Those opposite finished scanning
the remaining small area between, then gathered
about the two who were kneeling. I heard exclamations
of excitement, I saw one of the kneeling men pick up
something, then get to his feet, holding what he’d
found on the palm of one hand, while all crowded
about to look. There was a confusion of talk. Several
times I heard the word “flesh.” After a moment I saw
the Chief look about on the ground again, and him-
self pick up something.. He turned it over— and the

SCIENCE-FICTION +

excitement redoubled. Ail started looking about then,
but nothing more was picked up. They gathered close
about their finds again, and examined them and
talked and exclaimed. I was dying with curiosity
when the Chief turned and called to Tom and me. He
pointed to three objects on the palm of the other
man’s hand and asked;

“What are those things?”

We put our eyes close to them. They looked like
animal tissue. They were pink, fluted stubs, tubular
in shape, about a quarter of an inch in diameter and
nearly an inch in length. There were three of them.

“What would they be doing in the field?” he added,
as I still examined them.

“I haven’t any idea,” I answered. “They look like
parts of some animal. Parts that, stick out. You can
see where they were torn away.”

He showed me what he held in his own hand. It
was a man’s rubber heel, much worn.

“We found this too,” he said. “Ever see it in passing
by here?”

“No, sir,” both Tom and I answered.

He turned it over. On the other side, the shoe side,
where it had been attached, was stuck a fourth bit of
tissue. I was wordless.

“I wonder, could this heel have been on the shoe
of one of the missing men,” the Chief said. “Where
were they working?"

With excitement Tom and I led everybody to the
trench where the two men had been working the first
night. Helped by us the Chief let himself down in the
trench and tried fitting the rubber heel in some of
the many footprints in the dirt at the bottom; then
he straightened and looked up at us.

“It fits,” he said. “It was on the shoe of one of the
two missing men. There's no imprint of a shoe with
a missing rubber heel, so we may suppose it was torn
off while the men were in the active area.”

We helped him out of the trench. What excitement
there was thenl Those scientists were dignified, sober
men, and until then they'd spoken surprisingly little,
keen as their interest obviously was-but now they
gabbled like children.

“It might be significant that one of the nubs of flesh
is stuck to the heel,” one ventured.

“Those nubs aren’t from any living animal,” an-
other kept saying. “I’m no specialist, but I’m quite
sure . . ."—and he spouted technical terms in support
of his opinion.

They examined the stubs again with great care.
They came to agree that they were animal tissue; that
they were fairly fresh, as if they had recently been on
the living animal; that they had been violently torn
away; that they’d never heard of an animal with ex-
terior stubs like that. Most of them supposed that the
one stub had become stuck to the top of the heel by
the heel’s falling on it, until Doctor Herzog quietly
pointed to the possibility of a spacetime transfer of
the stub from some space or time unknown; then for
a moment they were silent.

Doctor Chambers said, “We need a zoologist and a
biologist, and maybe a botanist. I’ll send for them.”

“Better get a paleontologist, too,” said Doctor Her-
zog.

T ‘Yes,” said the other, as if reluctantly. “Well, there
should be some lunch waiting for us: let’s go back and
eat; it’s getting on. I’ll join you in a few minutes.
These young men will handle the poles, and I’ll ex-
plain it to them here.”

He turned to us, and while the others started back
over the field to the main building, he said:

“Our next job will be to find out the behavior of

this area under various sets of parameters involving
current combinations, time of day, and so on. We’ll be
concerned with the entire volume of space above it to
the height of ten feet. It’s already noon and there’s
much to do, so we have to work fast.

“The activity seems to be a time-space-matter-
gravity effect which probably won’t persist. There's
no time to set up proper experiments, no time even
to devise them, so we have to use the means close at
hand. It’s been decided to stud this area with wooden
poles, and observe on them the effect of the activity.
The poles will project ten feet and will be laced hori-
zontally with cord; I’ll show you how we want the cord
when you’re ready. Mr. Merriam has ordered enough
poles and cord for a thirty-foot square, and they should
be here soon. He's also ordered a post-hole drill rig.
When they come I want you to take charge of drilling
the holes and inserting the poles. All currents will be
off, of course, and the switches will be watched. The
poles will be twelve feet long; set them two feet in the
ground; pack each one in tightly. Start in the center
and set them in rows fifteen inches apart. If you haven’t
enough to reach to the borders, no matter— fill the
center. The job must be finished as quickly as possible.
Use any of the men who are unassigned. And be sure
not to tell them anything.”

The orders were clear. We walked back to the main
building together, where we found that the drill rig
had been delivered. Tom and I quickly ate something
at the trestles set up for the scientists in one of the labs
(the other employes ate separately) ; then we started
drilling, and when the poles came I took out every
available man and we set them in. There were almost
enough to fill the marked area. By late afternoon we
had the poles interlaced with cords and the job was
done. From the main building the area bristled like a
huge porcupine.

Tom had been concerned all morning about Pinto,
and at that point he got permission to go home to feed
and water her.

VIII

W ithout delay began, then, the series of experi-
ments which had been planned before dawn
that morning. The scientists— all but Doctor
Herzog and two other physicists— took position for
their observations at the windows of a big laboratory
on the top floor rear of the main building, overlooking
the field. Many pairs of field glasses had been obtained
for this purpose. Doctor Chambers flatly refused to let
anyone observe from either the field or the towers,
pointing out that with a phenomenon whose nature in-
cluded factors of space and time it must not be as-
sumed that parts of the field harmless in the morning
were necessarily harmless in the afternoon.

I hung around in back, out of theityvay. Hofkin as
before was stationed at the switch- pa lei in the base-
ment, and continuous contact was maintained with
him bv phone.

The first test was the most direct and important one.
Step by step Hofkin was to bring the currents in the
carriers to exactly the values of the critical moments
of 9; so p.m„ reproducing the electrical parameters
which had brought about, or accompanied, the fatal-
ities.

By phone Hofkin read off to Doctor Chambers the
steps of the current changes. The Chief repeated each
figure aloud, elbows propped on the sill of an opened
window, in his left hand the receiver, in his right the
glass held to his eyes. I too watched through a pair of
glasses.

DECEMBER, 1953

55

I sensed from the Chief’s manner when the critical
values approached, but my glass showed no change.
The poles remained upright and motionless.

Then, "Critical values!” repeated the Chief.

I, like all the others, watched intently through my
glass. I saw a change. No crack, no puff of cloud, but
motion. The tops of the poles at the center began to
vibrate rapidly through a distance of perhaps a foot.
From the center outward the vibrations gradually
changed in direction and diminished in amplitude,
and I could detect no motion at all in the outermost
poles.

For a moment we watched the mysterious motion;
then came the order;

"Cut all currents.”

The poles became motionless.

"Restore all currents."

The vibration resumed. The hitherto silent ob-
servers now began to make exclamatory remarks,
chiefly over the peculiarity of the changing directions
of vibration from the center toward the outside.

“Cut all currents, Hofkin,” the Chief said then.
"We’re going out to have a look.” The poles came to
rest. "Good. Stand by, of course. We don’t want anyone
touching the switches.”

Tired as all the scientists were by then, every one
went out on the field to examine the effects of the
activity on the poles and cords. I thought I’d better
stay behind, and watched through my glass. They soon
were back. The Chief went to the phone.

“Nothing showed, Hofkin,” he said. "No damage,
not a sign of change. It must be a step function.

"Now we’ll continue with the tests as planned. You
have a list of the parameter combinations we want to
try. I’m going to report to Doctor Herzog and the other
physicists; we’ve got to discuss what we observed. I’m
turning the phone over to Professor Downing. He’ll
have my copy of the list, and will keep a record of the
effects of the changes, if any."

He spoke to Professor Downing and left. I wished I
could have gone with him to his conference! Professor
Downing had just set himself for the new series of
experiments when I saw Tom motion me from the
doorway. I stepped out. He told me the handyman had
been seeing to Pinto, so he’d come right back to the
Lab on her. Tom was cheered by my account of the
experiment. He tiptoed to the back of the room with
me and we took turns watching through my glass.

The new tests were under way. Professor Downing
kept referring to a paper in front of him— a list of the
current combinations to be tried. The procedure might
be explained like this: Assume there were five lines
carrying current. Holding four of the currents con-
stant, the fifth would be varied in steps below and
above its critical value and the results on the poles,
if any, noted through the glasses. This process would
be repeated with each of the other four carriers. After
the five series of such tests, the variations would be
made in pairs of carriers, then threes, and so on. It was
a standard investigative procedure; monotonous, per-
haps, to the layman; but then the layman still knows
so little about the methods of research.

We stood and watched nearly an hour, but in not
one test did the vibrations of the poles recur. The
values which brought activity were indeed critical!

Then we began to hear somewhere an irascible
quacking, a sound ultra-familiar to Tom and me:
ducks. A few minutes later Dr. Chambers entered the
room. He talked briefly with the observers, noted with
much interest the negative results of the tests, then
called Tom and me over to a back corner. Quietly, so
as not to disturb the experiments in progress, he asked

Tom in a tone of speculative contemplation.
“Is that your horse out front?”

“Yes, sir.”

He thought a moment, then said:

"Some ducks have come. Mr. Merriam ordered them
this morning; they’re the one kind of animal at hand
for use as guinea pigs. We’d thought to use them in
experiments, both this afternoon and tonight: w r e’d
planned to put them at the active spot, some low, some
higher, then turn on the current and observe. Now
they’re here, but they’re making a devil of a racket,
and everyone downstairs is burning with curiosity
about them, and I hardly dare use them, for it might
tip off to others the kind of experimenting we’re doing,
and rumors would get out and the reporters would be
on us. It can’t be done secretly, unless you can tell us
how to remove their quack. Anyway, there’s hardly
enough time. Our first experiment with flesh and blood
will have to be the main one, tonight.

“We can use them tonight, but it’s just been sug-
gested that it might be better to use a single animal,
a horse. We could tie it in place. Its head will come to
about the height of a man’s head. If the phenomenon
repeats, the body should disappear and the head float
off, showing in one animal the plane separating the
two types of effect. It’s a good idea. But horses are
scarce, and we’ve not got much time. Do you know
where we might be able to get one, quick? Any old
horse, as long as it can stand up. We ought to have it
here in an hour.”

For an instant Tom hesitated, then he said:

“You can have my horse.”

“Now, Tom, I didn’t come to try and get your
horse!” the Chief said instantly. "I don’t want your
horse: I only want to know, can you tell us where we
can get one, right away.”

“There isn’t any place you can get one quick. But
that’s got nothing to do with it. I want you to use
Pinto.”

The Chief paused a moment.

“I understand that you've had your horse since you
were a boy, and are very fond of it.”

"That's so, but she’s old; her life is over. I don’t
want her any more. She’d only remind me of my wife.”
"It’s very doubtful if there* d be any pain,”

“Even if there was, I guess what happened to my wife
can happen to a horse.”

Doctor Chambers paused again. He was being ex-
tremely tactful.

"It seems unfair, Tom. You’ve lost so much.”

"I tell you I don’t want her any more.”

"We’ll reimburse you, of course."

“No. No money. I m glad she’ll be able to help you.
I’m grateful for all you people are doing. I know it’s
not For me, but I’m in the middle of it, and maybe
Pinto’ll help you find where my wife is.”

A pained look came to Doctor ChambTt.’ face. He
said firmly:

“Tom, you mustn’t think you’re ever going to see
your wife again.”

“Well, I can't help hoping. I’ve read things with
theories about the dimensions. It could be like a hole
opened in the universe, and people disappear into
the hole. If the thing could be reversed, maybe she
could be pulled back. So I at least could see she’s
really dead.”

The Chief shook his head. Gently but still firmly
he said:

“You'll never see your wife again. Not even dead.
Get that into your head, Tom. All of us here have
been completely upset by what’s happened. We don’t
understand it. Perhaps the human mind can’t under-

SCUNCS-nCTiON-f

stand it. We’re ail so ignorant! Science has hardiv
made a start! Maybe some day there’ll be such a thing
as interdimensional traffic, but right now I can’t
imagine it. My utmost hope is that we can get the
phenomenon to repeat a few times, so we may study
it and get data.

“But thanks very much for Pinto. Nothing could
help us more. I’ll nave to ask you to tie her in place.
You'll have to remove a row of poles to get her in,
then replace them. I'll help you. Let’s do it right
now. We all of us had better be getting ready for
tonight.”

He stopped the tests and asked for volunteers to
oversee two tower installations of floodlights and
remote-control stereo movie cameras; the physical
work would be done by junior members of the staff.
Older members of the staff would install the available
apparatus around the danger area. While they did this,
he, with Tom and me, would place' the horse.

Tom went alone to fetch Pinto. Poles and cords
were removed; Pinto was tied to one pole by her
halter and to others by ropes tied around a pad placed
on a hind leg; then the poles and cords were replaced.
To my surprise Tom aid not show any special feel-
ing, he worked thoughtfully and said nothing; but
before the cords were replaced, at a moment when
the Chief and I were at a distance, I caught sight of
him at Pinto’s head, affectionately stroking her muzzle.
It was decided, for Pinto’s comfort, not to tie her
head high just then; the Chief said he’d send some-
one to do it a little before the currents were turned
on. When we were finished Tom and I accompanied
the Chief on his inspection of the light and movie
and instrument installations. Bv dusk everything was
completed and checked, and all returned slowly and
wearily across the field to the main building.

A simple buffet supper had been laid on the
trestles. Tom and I were invited to eat with the
scientists, but we felt in the way and took some sand-
wiches and containers of coffee to the top-floor lab
and ate at the windows overlooking the field. Rather,
I alone ate; Tom only drank the coffee, for he was
depressed from the hope-destroying words of Doctor
Chambers. Night had arrived. The moon, not quite
round, lit the field clearly, showing the tall towers,
the long black scars of the trenches, and the dark
patch where the poles were set. Even through glasses
we could not make out Pinto, standing tethered in
their midst.

We watched for a long time, not saying a word,
each trapped in the web of his own thoughts— Tom’s
as gloomy and bitter as you may imagine. Suddenly
the two installed lights flooded the central area, and
picking up our glasses we could trace the outline of
Pinto. Just as suddenly the lights went out, leaving
the field plunged into a deeper darkness. A few
minutes passed in silence, then Tom said:

“Where’s Herzog?”

“Down in one of the small labs on the floor below,”

I told him. “Working. That is, thinking. Filling
papers with equations.

“Show me where it is,” he demanded. “I want to
see him."

I refused, saying it would be unpardonable to inter-
rupt him at such a time— that he was hard at work,
and that his time was uniquely important.

“Well, my seeing him is uniquely important to
me," he retorted grimly. He threatened to find out
from someone else, and it ended by my taking him
there.

He knocked. After a moment Herzog’s voice told us
to come in.

IX

W E entered a small, brightly lighted room. Dr.
Herzog was sitting on a stool at a table, before
him a page with several lines of scribbled pot-
hooks, at his left a box of paper, and on the floor at
his right a waste can half filial with crumpled sheets.
He slid about as we entered and a slight smile parted
the stubble of face and head.

“My midnight friends!" he exclaimed gently. “I’ve
had no real chance to tell you how sorry I am that
it was true about your wife,” he said to Tom. “I
didn’t believe you. I thought you both were victims
of an hallucination. It’s probability .8, eh? I still can
hardly believe it. You’re upsetting the whole of
modern physics, young man. Doctor Chambers has

{ ‘ust told me you offered your horse. That’s fine. We
lave to try and find out. We have to learn the secrets.
We may have so little time. We’re caught by surprise;
we’re not ready with proper experiments, we even lack
vital equipment. The horse is ideal. Long neck, and
head the height of a man’s. We shall soon see." He
stopped speaking and looked at us, waiting.

It put Tom on the spot. “We shouldn’t be inter-
rupting you, and I’m sorry; but Tom here insisted,
and I couldn’t prevent him.”

Herzog looked at Tom questioningly. Tom said:

“I— I was wondering— I was hoping that maybe now
you could explain what happened to my wife.”

Dr. Herzog sighed. “Have you forgotten my little
lecture?"

“But you didn’t believe us then, and since then
the thing’s happened again.”

“I told you, I understand so little. I work, but
we have so little data. We need far more. Data! We
need data!”

“Well, excuse me, sir— I thought— you’ve been here
all afternoon, and I thought you might have got
some idea. . .

“Well, it’s just possible there may be a tiny crack,
if I could find the right wedge. I don’t see why I
shouldn’t tell you. In the copy of my book you will
see introduced somewhere about page seventeen a
constant with the value 59.18. This morning when I
saw the print of the field layout I noted that the
central section of the field, bounded by three trenches
and their carriers, made what looked like a perfect
equilateral triangle; 60-degree angles in each comer.
Now, 60 degrees is very near to 59.18. Of course the
rint was only a drawing; the actual angle on the
eld is something else; but it’s interesting. What if
the angle on the field is 59.18? Or what if the constant
should be the angle on the field? There was no time
to survey the triangle with high accuracy, but it will
be done tomorrow. Meanwhile X I’ve been probing
here with symbols.”

“And you haven’t found anything?" Tom asked.
“No. But I have the feelings. You know about
them? Certain vague feelings of being close to a success
—tantalizing— frustrating, yet not quite unpleasant—
a thing common at a certain stage of the creative
process.”

“Do you think you'll get it soon?”

“One always hopes. But I felt that way about a key
section of the Field Theory eight yean before I was
able to resolve it!"

’t expect to understand, soon, what

Always hope, never expect.' I hope.
But there's so little data! We have almost nothing. As
for understanding— in ten or a hundred years, after
thousands or millions of experiments, men may be
controlling the phenomenon, but that doesn't mean

“Then you don
happened?”

A I’ve a motto:

BKKMBIft, IMS

S 7

they’ll understand it. You’d better not hope at all.”
I could see that each time Doctor Herzog spoke,
Tom felt his words like a blow.

“I mustn’t be impatient with you, young man, for
you’re distraught— and why shouldn’t you be? Why
shouldn’t you wonder what happened! But you have
to realize we’re not magicians. In all probability our
chances for obtaining data dwindle rapidly— and when
will the phenomenon occur again? Consider. The two
strokes occurred on nights 1 and 3. We are hopeful
it will repeat this evening, on night 4, but that’s only
a hope. Since night 1, conditions in our part of the
cosmos have changed greatly. The moon’s in a dif-
ferent position relative to the sun; the Earth has
moved 18.5 times 60 times 60 times 24 times 3 miles
through space, and our solar system has moved a
further amount. Matter, gravity, space, time— they
interlock. That’s not the word-there are no words
for such things— but they comprise something like a
Whole with various interoperating manifestations.
Change one thing and all the others are affected. Put
more accurately, with change of one manifestation all
others change. Sneeze, and the cosmos is jolted.
Nothing's ever the same again. We are part of one
Field which contains everything or which is every-
thing. The fatal activity in our little field, and the
fateful forces of the cosmic Field— they change. And
our understanding of the cosmic Field is something
comparable to the microbe’s understanding of
calculus. Practically zero. I hope for more data tonight,
and for many nights. I can’t expect it. It could be that
man will require generations to harness the forces
detectable in the center of the field out there, and it
may be that man will have to evolve through millions
of years to understand them.”

Tom was shattered. He mumbled:

“Then— you’ve still no idea where my wife is. I
mean, what happened to her.”

Doctor Herzog shook his head. “It was a new thing,
and we lack data.”

Tom just stood there.

“Let me tell you something, young man. You know
about our finding the pieces of animal tissue?”
“Yes, sir.”

"Several experts examined them this afternoon— a
zoologist, a biologist, two paleontologists. They all say
they’re animal tissue, almost fresh, very recently torn
off. They say they came from no animal now living
on Earth. Do you get the implications of this?”

“I think so.”

“The biologists call the things tentacles. They say
they are full of nervous tissue, rather like the gray
matter of the human brain. The paleontologists say
that it’s unlikely that any creature bearing such
tentacles ever lived on Earth. Do you understand what
this suggests?”

“The future,” Tom murmured. “Or parallel
worlds.”

“Our ignorance!” Herzog exclaimed, and for a
moment he sat in thought. “I told you my motto, but
as always there’s an exception. Don’t hope to learn
anything about your wife. Don’t. It’s unhealthy. It's
insane! Face it: Your wife is gone. You’ll never see
her again. She’s dead, only her body can’t be seen.
She’s not out of the universe. Nothing can escape from
the Whole. She’s still part of it, in a new way. Part
of the Field. Of which you and I at this moment
are part, of which everybody and everything is part.

“Go away, now, and let me work. I assure you—
I know it sounds impossible— but I assure you that
gradually, in time, you’ll get over this. All things
change with time. Time is a factor in the Field. In

58

the Field you are still related to your wife. In it and
through it you will some day have a new status with
regard to her. Endure. For a while, just endure. This
will pass. I promise you, even this will pass.”

We left him, returning to the top-floor lab. Tom
was completely broken now. I knew he’d been secretly
hoping for a miracle, but I’d not realized how much.
He looked out the window. Unseen out there under
the moonlight, standing in the middle of that dark
patch, waited patient old Pinto. On that spot his
wife had been struck.

“Three days ago at this time Mary was alive,” he
murmured after a while. “Two days ago at this time
the kitten was alive. Yesterday at this time Jerry and
old man Williams were alive. I killed them all.”

“You didn’t kill any of them!” I objected.

“And I’m killing Pinto in a few minutes,” he went
on, heedless. “If I hadn’t got sore at Mary I’d have
kept her there a little, and walked her back myself,
and maybe nothing would have happened, and if it
did happen we’d both be together, at least. I killed
the two others by not warning them. I killed the kitten
because— oh. Jack, that was the worst of all!”

Surprised at this I asked, “Tell me about the
kitten.”

"I murdered it!”

“You can’t murder a kitten,” I said. "Maybe you
killed it ..."

“I killed it. I kill everything. Everything I touch
has to die. Mary, the two fellows, the kitten, and
now Pinto. But I’m consistent. I make it complete."

“Tell me about the kitten,” I said, for I saw there
was a deep wound there. I had to press him.

“The little kitten, a mere ball of fluff, hardly the
weight of a handkerchief!” he cried in a rush of
emotion. “I like kittens. Who can help liking a kitten!
Mary’d picked it up somewhere, so skinny and tiny
you couldn’t tell when it was in your hand. Well,
the night I came home from Herzog’s I went in the
house and looked around. I was full of bitterness and
hate. I stood looking at Mary’s apron on a chair,
where she’d tossed it before coming to see me on
Pinto. I looked at it about to burst. Then the kitten
—the kitten came and rubbed against my shoes— and
it kept coming— and— and I picked it up and choked
it to death. That tiny innocent little bunch of fluff!
I looked at it, warm and limp in my hand. The poor
little thing, it didn’t weigh more than a handkerchief,
and I’d killed it. It trusted me; it was hungry; it was

S laying with my shoelaces, and I killed it with my
ands. It was then I went crazy. I tore through the
house. I hated myself. First Mary, then that funny,
friendly kitten.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have done it,” I said. “You
should always be kind to animals. Everybody should
be perfect.” I changed my tone. “Look, Tom, it was
only a kitten. It had hardly begun to live. It probably
didn’t suffer any more than if you’d stepped on its
tail. It never knew what it was all about. It’s simply
not important. Forget it.”

Slowly and earnestly Tom said, “If I could change
places with that kitten, I’d do it. And with the two
men. I’d do it. And if I thought they’d let me, I’d
change places with Pinto out there . . .”

I must have been blind.

IX

T om grew silent and we sat looking out over the
moonlit field. We saw a man go out and enter the
patch, then return— someone sent to tie Pinto’s
head in the high position. A time passed. Then down

SCtENCE-FiCTtON*

stairs we heard the sound of many voices, followed by
footsteps on the stairs. Someone flicked on the room
lights and the group of scientists entered.

“Ah, here you are,” said Doctor Chambers. “We
were looking for you. It’s time for the final briefing.”

He sat on a high stool, and Herzog sat on another
near him, while all the others gathered around.

He explained what each Was to do. Hofkin was
to be at the switches. Three men were to remain in
that room and observe with glasses what might occur.
All the others were to take stations at given intervals
outside the fence of the field. If the horse’s outline
floated away, those nearest would try to follow it.
One station seemed more important than the others
because of the probability that the head would move
in the direction taken by the previous ones; Doctor
Herzog was assigned this. I was to be with him, because
I knew the countryside. For the same reason Tom
was to accompany Doctor Chambers— if he thought
it would not be too distressing.

"It may be asking too much, Tom,” the Chief said
kindly. “Don’t come if you’d rather not.”

All eyes went to Tom. After a moment he stam-
mered:

“I don’t want to.”

“We understand,” the Chief said. “I don’t think I’d
want to go myself, in your place.” He turned to the
others. “That reminds me: We heard from the hos-
pital. All room lights will be out. There’ll be no
panic.”

He looked at his watch. “It’s two minutes of nine.
There’s ample time to get to our stations, but none
to fool around. Pick up a pair of binoculars, then
get to your stations and wait. At 9:19:30, half a minute
before minute zero, the floodlights will come on for
just a second. That’s the warning. At 9:19:55 the
floodlights will come on to stay. Five seconds later, at
9:20, the currents will be cut in. They’ll come in at
the critical values. Adjust your glasses in advance.
Keep focused on the head, and. if you can, follow it
after it leaves the field. It’s a pity we can’t follow it
with instruments— but at least we may see what be-
comes of it . . . All right, any questions? If not,
let’s go.”

I joined Dr. Herzog and we started to leave. As I
passed Tom the physicist smiled and said to him:

“We try to learn the secrets.”

Tom looked at him with a strange expression, then
looked the same way at me, not removing his eyes all
the way to the door. That was our farewell. I never
saw Tom alive again.

I led the way for Doctor Herzog and half a dozen
other scientists. As we moved along the fence the
others dropped out one by one, till we continued
alone. We arrived at our station with nine minutes
to spare, and carefully adjusted our glasses to the dark
patch of poles. I could not make out Pinto.

As we waited 1 pointed out to Doctor Herzog the
positions of those on the field at the moment the
Unknown had struck Mary. There, close, in the same
moonlight, was the trench where die two men had
remained working. There I had stood, there Tom, and
along there Mary had passed on her way to the place
of mystery. Here was where Tom had gone up over
the fence, and here I had fallen stunned. The head
came straight toward us, and passed through the
fence right there. The hospital and Big Pond were
in that direction , . ,

Doctor Herzog listened attentively but said very
little. We waited, and it seemed a long time. Then
suddenly the floodlights blinked. For a second the
center of the field stood bathed in light, and the dark

patch in the center became a bunch of bristles. As
we raised our binocular glasses all was dark again.

We waited, glasses ready. The passing seconds
seemed minutes. Then, again suddenly, the flood-
lights came on. I held my breath.

From the patch of bristles came a thin c-r-a-c-k, and
with it a white cloud— just as before. Through my
glass I watched the cloud thin and disappear. A large
irregular object appeared against the bristles— Pinto's
head and a faint vapor-like outline of his body. It
came a little sharper above, and darker below. It
seemed to grow.

"It’s on our side,” I breathed.

Glasses up, we watched it. The head grew larger.
It seemed to remain in the same spot, but it kept
growing. That meant only one thing. I said:

“It’s coming in our direction.”

Doctor Herzog made no comment, but I could
sense him tense beside me. We waited. Suddenly I
cried out:

“No! Oh no, no, no!”

I’d seen something else, and in a flash I understood.
There was another object behind the first one, a
smaller object, previously occluded but now partly
visible. The first was Pinto, but the other I still could
not make out distinctly. But I knew! A sharp pain
cut through my chest, and my heart seemed to stop
beating. I cried out:

“It’s Tom too!”

Dr. Herzog breathed in suddenly but said nothing.
We watched. I cried:

“There’s the bandage!”

Everything around me seemed to disappear except
the dreadful objects now coming toward us. Through

“From the patch of bristles came a thin c-r-a-c-k !”

DECEMBER, 19S3

S9

indescribable emotions I saw them move outward
from the lighted center, Pinto's head coming larger
and larger, and just beyond it, a trifle to one side, the
visible part of a smaller head, one with a bandage on
the forehead, floating evenly at a constant distance in
the same soft motion. With them were portions of
poles and cord.

I let down my glasses. Eight feet or so in the air
they came on, slowly and horizontally, a little to our
left. They were opaque. Now they were only 30 feet
away from us, and the moonlight showed them
clearly. Pinto was facing away from us, tilted some-
what from the vertical position it would have in life;
Tom was nearly upside down and pointed to our
right, and his eyes were closed. They floated nearer,
then passed one after the other through the fence.
I heard Doctor Herzog gasp.

They passed us a dozen feet away and went straight
across the t arrow side road and the fence of the
opposite field. I started after them, Doctor Herzog
following. I squeezed through the fence and held
the wires separated, to help him through, but he
stumbled to a post and held tight to it and motioned
me on. I saw he was panting, m physical distress; his
heart wasn’t adequate. He gasped:

“You go. You! Go on!”

I left him and chased after the two objects, coming
up to them at the far side of the field. They passed
among the trees. For a second I turned and saw
Herzog still holding to the post, and two other men
with him; then I followed Tom’s and Pinto’s out-
lines.

They passed between the trees and through them.
Straight ahead and out the far side they went,
smoothly, inexorably, rotating slowly and independ-
ently, Pinto in front, Tom several feet behind. They
kept eight feet from the ground— a little more, a little
less. When they came to a hollow in the ground they
seemed to react to it, and lowered somewhat.

The two, with some fragments of poles and cord.
Two that I knew so well. Pinto with her halter.Tom
with the bandage on his forehead, the inevitable lock
of red hair on the bandage. Pinto’s eyes closed now,
mouth moving a little. Tom's eyes now half open,
but no expression under the iodine stains on his face.

They passed along the way of Mary. The way to-
ward the edge of town, the way across the farm, the
way which bore a million times their footprints—
and Mary’s too, and mine.

I followed at a fast walk, a little behind. I could
have touched them; I thought of it, but didn’t dare.
I imagined my hand going through, and Tom, face
turned toward the stars, eyes open, not showing that
he was aware, but perhaps knowing what I did . . .

We came to a pond and they continued straight
across, lowering a little over the surface. I ran around
and caught up with them on the far side. We passed
a farmhouse, quiet and lonely in the moonlight, a single
window lighted. We passed the outbuildings— on, on
to an unknown destination.

The hospital came into sight, and we passed the
southern edge of its grounds. Were the mental patients
still trembling at the unreality of the reality they
had witnessed?

We passed the hospital.

I was out of breath now, and tired. I stumbled
often. I got caught in barbed wire. I bled. Sometimes
I spoke. I thought:

Tom! If you could speak! Can you see me? Can
you know I’m following? Is your mind there?— or in
some other, unimaginable place? Do you understand
now? Can't you indicate it? But your eyes move!

Tom— you shouldn’t have stolen back to Pinto!
The pain would have passed! But the trenches were
there, and it was so easy. . . .

Tom— are you aware you are with Pinto? Your old
Pinto— your horse, your companion, for years in-
separable-parts of one organism, almost— once gal-
loping across this countryside— now again together,
floating across this same countryside— companions
once more on a last incomprehensible journey. . . .
Where are you going?

Say something, Tom! Talk to me, tell me what’s
happening. I saw your lips move! Where are you

E oing? What are you feeling? Don’t you know I'm
ere? It’s Jack— your old friend . . . but your face is
toward the moon, your eyes are now closed, and you
float to a destination unknown and unimaginable.

See— this is your father’s farm! Look, there was
where we found the Indian bones! Can you remember
that? Can you remember at all? Here’s the house.
No one lives here now, Tom. The kids have broken
the windows, the braver ones have dared the ghosts
and entered, and smashed what they found, and played
roughly; but it’s your house, you were born here,
you grew up here, there’s not an inch that has not
known you as you ran eager on your important boys’
business. Can you remember, wherever your mind is
now?

To Tom’s face came no sign that he knew I was
there. But his eyes half opened. He floated past in
another time and space. Still with Pinto.

They floated evenly in their straight transit, always
rotating a little, passing the outbuildings and the
meadow and nearing the pond. I followed despair-
ingly.

Tom— here's where we tried to get the frogs to
fight! No luck at it, none at all. They wouldn’t fight,
and they're long since dead, whatever that is, and now
you’re different too, Tom, floating so mystically over
this crumb of the universe, once all yours, now so
serenely abandoned. Here’s the pond! Once white
with ducks! Do you remember the boats?

The heads lowered as they crossed the water, and
as before I ran around and caught up with them on
the far side. Still straight ahead they floated. Through
the trees, into the little clearing . . .

Do you remember this place, Tom? The hours we
fought here, and the many times we sat down to
rest and cry? And how you came to me on Pinto and
made me take a ride. I didn’t want to take that ride.
T vas afraid. But you were doing such a favor; I had
to do the one thing that would get you feeling square
toward me again. So I rode Pinto— Pinto, do you re-
member it?— and I was so glad when I could get off . . .

They floated eternally on, Pinto with her halter,
Tom with his bruises and the iodine stains and the
bandage on his forehead and the stubborn red lock
on the bandage. I thought the heads looked thinner
now; of thinner substance. There were moments I
thought I could see through them.

Straight on they went, idly rotating, floating serenely
through the moonlight. They came to the lake. By
then I was exhausted.

I stood on the edge and watched. Gradually they
lowered until they were just over the surface. Ghost-
like, I thought I saw their entire bodies. I saw them
touch the water, then ride evenly downward until
they were gone. I watched for a long time, but I did
not see them again . . .

I thought, have you found Mary, Tom? Do you
understand, now, what happened to her? Is she able
to be happy? Is she surprised that you came with
Pinto? Will you be together for a long time? +

60

>ClMCS*f KCIHHV ♦

astronomy 4.

Mars

M aks, the red planet, has intrigued men
for years, as a possible abode of
life. For a long time it was thought that
another race of men probably lived on
Mars— men somewhat like those on Earth.
But scientific studies of the Martian at-
mosphere have led to the latter-day de-
duction that while life may exist on Mars,
it is probably of a far different type than
man himself - probably a low form of
animal organism. Some Interesting facts
on Mars appear in an article in the
Scientific American, by Girard de Vaucou-
leurs.

The white polar caps observed on Mars
are possibly not thick snow and ice fields
(as previously conjectured) but thin
coverings of frost on very cold ground.
These thin frown water coverings which
form during the cold season, under a
cover of wintry mists, evaporate with the
return of the sun’s spring warmth. There
seems little doubt (from recent studies)
that the large yellowish areas observed on
Mars are deserts.

As to the Martian atmosphere, a long
search for oxygen made at the Mount Wil-
son Observatory failed to detect any trace
of it. Also it contains no hydrogen or
helium. It has been determined that Mars’
atmosphere does contain carbon dioxide
(about twice that in the Earth’s atmos-
phere) . It is now believed that Mars has
less than one percent as much water as the
Earth, and that most areas on Mars are
extremely dry. Nitrogen possibly accounts
for the bulk of the atmosphere. In addi-
tion to the carbon dioxide, we may add
a small trace of the rare gas argon.

Winds on Mars probably range up to 60
miles per hour. Atmospheric pressure on
Mars at ground level is about 65 mm of
mercury (less than one-tenth of the
Earth’s sea-level pressure) . As to climate,
the mean Martian temperature lies some-
where between SO and 40 degrees below
zero Fahrenheit (much colder than the
Earth’s mean temperature of 60 degrees
F.) At noon in summer the temperature
on Mars (in the tropics) may reach 80
degrees F.

The variations in surface patterns seen
on Mars are thought to be possibly due to
vegetation growths. The argument over
the Mars canals has raged for years. The
canal-like markings observed have finally
been noted to occupy the same positions
as discovered by Schiaparelli three-
quarters of a century ago, and the plant
life on Mars, changing with the seasons,
probably accounts for the canal-like mark-
ings, But they were apparently not made
by intelligent beings resembling men, as
often conjectured.

Speedy Planet

I carus, a tiny planet measuring about
half a mile in diameter, will break a
speed record for its extremely rapid
motion in relation to the Earth in 1968,
it is predicted. This event was announced

by Dr. Samuel Herrick, Jr., of the Univer-
sity of California to a Royal Astronomical
Meeting held recently in London, Eng-
land. Besides, the asteroid may serve as
a critical astronomical check on the Ein-
stein relativity theory. This check will
be made by noting small changes in
perihelion (point in the path of a planet
which is nearest to the sun) motion due
to the relativity effect. According to the
relativity theory the perihelion point
should shift a slight calculable amount,
varying for each planet. The change for
Icarus is much less (in 100 years) than it
would be for Mercury (the previous astro-
nomical check-mark) , but the change can
be measured about five times more ac-
curately. Dr. Herrick and Dr. J. J. Gilvarry
of the Rand Corporation, Santa Monica,
Calif,, made the calculations of the peri-
helion motion for Icarus, the only body,
aside from a comet, which is known to
pass within the orbit of Mercury. Icarus
is calculated to approach within approxi-
mately 4,000,000 miles of the Earth In
1968, or about four times closer than any
minor planet has yet been predicted to
com e.— Science Service.

S’ atomics Q

Radioactive A-Dust Remover

A fter an atomic bomb explosion, walls
. of a building and other surfaces re-
main coated with radioactive dust. It is
important to scrub these surfaces with
some effective detergent in order to pro-
tect public health. New detergent scouring
compounds containing phosphorus have
the property of collecting and holding
rare Earth elements, which are among the
most abundant fission products resulting
from an atomic blast. So effective are these
new detergent compounds that nearly 99
percent of the invisible but menacing
radioactive particles are removed, accord-
ing to tests rt jvted by Dr. Foster D,
Snell to the 26th International Congress
of Industrial Chemistry. For cleaning plas-
ter walls, water alone is better.— Science
Service.

£k biology £

The Character of Genes

G enes, those mysterious transmitters of
such personal characteristics as the
color of one’s hair or eyes, may quite
likely be segments of the string itself, in-
stead of being beads on a chromosome
string, as previously conceived. Such is the
conclusion of Dr. Taylor Hinton, geneti-
cist of the University of California at Los
Angeles.

The classical bead concept seemed ad-
equate a few years ago, but recent research
indicates that the gene is more than likely
a compound segment of a chromosome.
Research with fruit flies shows that a
gene can be divided into as many as five

parts and rearranged at distant intervals,
each part of them being capable of
functioning independently.

Previously, the gene was conceived to
be a single large molecule responsible for
a particular genetic characteristic, but the
latest study suggests that some genes may
be made up of a lot of molecules, all
performing the same function or purpose.
Our changing ideas about genes have
arisen from a better understanding of
mutations, Dr. Hinton suggests.— Univer-
sity of California.

Seeing In the Dark

H ow to see better in the dark has been
a problem of great importance to
military men. One method of adapting
the eyes to see in the dark is to wear red
goggles for half an hour ahead of time.
The red goggles do not prevent a man
from reading a map or checking an in-
strument. New experiments show that a
better way to train the eyes for dark
adaption is to provide complete darkness
for about 30 minutes. This discovery is
the result of experiments reported by Dr.
Walter R. Miles of the Psychological
Laboratories, Yale University, to the Op-
tical Society of America.

In the experiments both methods of
dark adaption were tested on the same
persons at the same time. A mi goggle
was placed over one eye and an opaque
shield over the other eye. The eye best
adapted to see in the dark turned out to
be the one from which all light had been
blocked off. This need not affect the
practice of wearing red goggles for im-
proving the eyes for night vision (fol-
lowed by men in the armed services), as
this technique has been amply demon-
strated to be effective in practice .— Science
Service.

Protoplasmic Universes

O ne of the newest discoveries made with
the aid of the powerful electron
microscope is that suspensions of proto-
plasm resemble a miniature universe. This
discovery was described in Protoplasma,
published at the University of California
at Los Angeles, by the late Dr. O. L.
Sponsler and Dr. Jean Bath of the botany
division of the University. When a col-
lection of protoplasmic bodies are viewed
under the electron microscope, they are
observed to bear a striking likeness to
photos of heavenly bodies taken through
powerful astronomic telescopes. The study
of these protoplasm groupings by Dr.
Sponsler suggested that the larger bodies
in living protoplasm may attract smaller
ones in some manner, thus making it
possible for systems to form which are
very similar to the universe's planetary
ones.

When closely examined, the very minute
particles, probably highly organized mech-
anisms or enzyme complexes, appear to
possess an internal structure.

So it is that science in its constant ex-
plorations, has come up with information
that is as startling and imaginative as any-
thing in science-fiction. A good writer
could work up a novel story from the
material given . — University of California.

BIC1MMR. 1953

61

-(§) electronics ®>

Super-Electronic Brain

I f a man were asked to memorize the
approximately one million bits of in-
formation in five solid pages of a news-
paper, he would find it impossible, espe-
cially if he had to do it quickly. But a
new electronic brain recently described by
Dr. Jan A. Rajchman of the Radio Cor-
poration of America, Laboratories divi-
sion, has a fast-acting device that can
memorize information in a fraction of a
second and recall the stored data at a
moment’s notice. It can store this infor-
mation indefinitely and if a hundred of
these new machines were connected to-
gether, the complete unit could easily
store the one million pieces of information
mentioned previously. The new brain
utilizes 10,000 tiny ring-shaped magnets
arranged in a wire network; the minute
currents passing through the circuits mag-
netizes the ring magnets in proper order
and permits as many as 10,000 pieces of
information to be stored in an instant.

Another electronic brain perfected at
the Argonne National Laboratory is said
to be much faster than previous models
of such computers. Some idea of its as-
tonishing capacity can be obtained from
the fact that it can receive, retain, and
process 2,048 12-digit decimal numbers; it
can memorize four million words, and it is
capable of multiplying 999,999,999,999 by
999,999,999,999 faster than one can blink
an eyelid. The wonder computer is to be
installed at Oak Ridge this fall to help
solve the mathematical problems met with
at that plant .— Science Service.

Death from Radar

T he postwar development of micro-
waves, particularly for radar, has
brought about entirely new problems in
so far as human health is concerned.

It appears that with greater powers
soon to be in use, operational risks to
personnel in the vicinity of microwave
transmitters may become a cause for con-
cern, states Hugo Gernsback, Editor of
Radio- Electronics in his Editorial ap-
pearing in the August issue of that
magazine.

Recently, Sidney I. Brody, Commander
(MC) U.S, Navy, stated that in the
past, power output of airborne radar
equipment has been moderate. It did not
present any particular hazard to those
exposed to the radiations. But present-
day radar beams represent peak pulsed
power of a million watts or over, as com-
pared to the 45,000 watts of a decade ago.

Commander Brody observed that the
two frequency spectra, the or 10-
centimeter and the "X" or 3-centimeter
bands, are now in current use. He stated
that the effect on living organisms of the
various frequencies of electromagnetic
waves in these bands are thought to be
essentially thermal in nature. It is not
known so far whether there might be
other than heat effects when living or-
ganisms are exposed to these radiations.

It has been noted that the 3-centimeter
radiations used today in radar equipment
can produce high thermal effects. The
subject receives ample warning due to the
high heat generated on the surface of the
skin. Therefore the 3-centimeter radia-
tions do not seem to constitute a hazard
for the exposed personnel. However, on
frequencies in the vicinity of 10-centi-
meters, the conditions change because the
high temperatures in this case occur about

1 centimeter below the surface in organs
not cooled by the blood stream. Since the
skin is not stimulated by this heat the
subject does not perceive heat nor pain —
he no longer has any warning. Therefore,
the io-centimeter radiations become dan-
gerous.

Rabbits exposed to constant power in a
3,000-watt field for 75 seconds were killed,
while a 30-second exposure produced
death in 2 minutes. Instant death to a rat
resulted after only 22 seconds irradiation
at that power, and 10 seconds of a 4,000-
watt constant power output killed a ham-
ster soon after exposure. High increases in
body temperature produced heat paralysis
of the respiratory centers.

One of the most important hazards,
particularly for humans, is the produc-
tion of cataracts following exposure to
high-power microwave radiations.

A spectacular illustration of the power
output of radar equipment was conducted
by Lockheed Aircraft Corporation. Dry
steel wool in the radar beam was ignited
at a distance of 100 feet. At 70 feet an
explosion was produced by aluminum
chips in a gasoline vapor-air mixture.
Photofiash bulbs were fired at a distance
of 323 feet. Individuals who have metal
bone implants or metal plates covering a
cranial defect may suffer dangerous burns
when under high power radiations. Ex-
cessive heat may possibly be produced in
metals carried by the individual working
near these rays.

A very ingenious and simple safeguard
has been proposed recently for radar
maintenance personnel. Because neon gas
tubes light up brilliantly in the presence
of microwave radiations, they can be
readily placed on the under surface of the
men’s cap visors. Now when the small
neon tube flashes on an immediate and
effective warning of dangerous exposure
is given.

New “Memory” Storing Crystals

T wo hundred and fifty bits of informa-
tion can be stored indefinitely in a
new fiat crystal measuring but half an
inch square. The crystals, only a few
thousandths of an inch thick, have been
developed by scientists connected with the
Bell Telephone Laboratories,

The crystals are artificially grown front
the chemical barium titanate. A few square
inches of such memory-storing crystals are
equal to many cubic feet of currently used
computing devices, and they may have a
profound significance in decreasing the
space occupitjfi by telephone switching
systems.

The new Bell Laboratories memory
crystals store their information in the
binary code, consisting of only two sym-
bols designated by either a “yes” or a
“no.” Words, sentences, or a series of num-
bers can be coded by using a large number
of these symbols, similar to the punched
pattern in the player-piano roll, which
can represent a piece of music.

Coded information is fed into the crys-
tals by the simple application of a plus
or minus voltage, depending on whether
a yes or no is desired. No man-made store-
house has thus far even remotely ap-
proached the compact perfection of the
human brain. These remarkable new
memory-storing crystals represent a dis-
tinct step forward in the science of mini-
aturization.

It has been estimated, as a matter of
interest, that an artificial brain (even to
approximate imperfectly) roughly equiva-
lent to the capacity of the human brain
would require a space the size of Grand
Central Station (in New York City) to
house the thousands of vacuum tubes, re-

lays, capacitors, and associated equipment.
—Bell Telephone Laboratories News.

food chemistry^

Cobait-60 Makes Pork Safe

P ork, when undercooked or raw, has
been a dangerous food because of the
trichina worm parasites which may infest
it. Now, thanks to investigations by Dm.
H. J. Gomberg and S. E, Gould at the Uni-
versity of Michigan (Ann Arbor), pork
can be freed of any trichina worms by
subjecting it to gamma rays from radio-
active cobalt-60.

An exposure of meat to 20,000 roentgens
of cobait-60 irradiation prevents any larval
trichina worms present from maturing.
This treatment of the pork or other meat
prevents the parasite from growing and
reproducing its kind in humans who eat
pork.

This is a very welcome and important
discovery, as it’ has been estimated that
the trichina parasite possibly has been
responsible for infecting about 18 percent
of the population of the United States
with trichinosis, the disease resulting from
eating infected pork. Other remedial meas-
ures to protect the pork-consuming public
have been to cook the meat for 15 min-
utes for each pound, or quick-freezing it
at very low temperatures. The U.S. Gov-
ernment specifications call for all un-
cooked pork products to be stored for 20
days at 15 degrees below zero Centigrade
(zero degrees C. is freezing) in order to
properly control trichina worms.— Science
Service.

Algae To Feed World

T omorrow, the world’s population may
depend on a new source of food-
cultivated algae. This is forecast by Dr.
Vannevar Bush, president of the Carnegie
Institution of Washington, D. C. Algae
can utilize sunshine and air more effi-
ciently than can any other living or
mechanical process.

The algae can supply high-protein food,
which the world will need most in the fu-
ture. Large-scale production or culture of
algae may well become a prime industry
if the world's food supply starts to fail.

The first large-scale use of cultivated
algae as human food occurred in Venezu-
ela some ten years ago, when lepers were
successfully fed soup made from algae.
Seaweed, which are lame-sized algae, have
been eaten by oriental people for hun-
dreds of years. Among the 17,000 different
species of algae, scientists are confident
that some suitable ones will be found that
can be efficiently used as high -protein
food.

Algae can produce a continuous crop,
regardless of weather or seasonal changes.
The cell structure is such that they are
practically all’ food, without the usual
waste we have from stems, roots, and
leaves of higher plants. It is planned to
construct a demonstration algae-growing
plant, covering about an acre, as soon as
some of the experimental problems have
been solved .— Science Service.

^^geology

“Microquakes”

M icroquakks are tiny imitation earth-
quakes set up by a pulsating lithium

62

S€MNOhftaiOit+

sulfate crystal for laboratory study of
earthquake phenomena. The tiny tremors
so produced are being used by Drs. Leon
Knopoff and Glenn Brown of the Insti-
tute of Geophysics on the Los Angeles
campus of the University of California.

Another phase of this study of Earth
tremors on a laboratory' scale is that con-
nected with the location of petroleum de-
posits, and the nature of the Earth’s in-
terior. This controlled production of
seismic tremors is expected to provide a
clearer insight as to the nature of the
transmission of seismic waves through the
earth.

Microquake waves are sent through
granite, wax, or cement blocks from the
pulsating lithium sulfate crystal, at a fre-
quency of 1,000 per second or more. An
oscillograph and photo-recorder traps the
shock waves after transmission through
the laboratory test blocks, so that they
can be minutely studied and analyzed
later. The seismic waves present the best
method of exploring the Earth’s interior,
according to Dr. Knopoff, and this labo-
ratory study should provide a much im-
proved seismic prospecting technique, as
well as a more efficient method of inter-
preting seismographic data— Science Serv-
ice.

Glaciers Grow Again

D o glaciers ever grow? It seems that
they do, according to a recent report
on Norwegian glaciers. For the first time
in twenty years it has been observed that
snow-covered Norwegian glaciers are slow-
ly moving forward. Two glacial branches
have shown a substantial increase in ice
volume during the past two years, states
the Norwegian glacier expert, Mr. Olav
Liestol.

Whether these increases indicate a cli-
matic change it is too early to determine,
said Mr. Liestol. Glaciers in Norway, in
general, have shrunk (about 50% in total
area) rather than increased in the past
fifty years. One glacier (the Nigardsbreen
branch of the Jostedalen glacier) has
shrunk more than 300 feet vertically and
has receded 2/3 of a mile between 1937
to 1951. While the Storbreen glacier in
Jotunheimen shrank steadily up to 1951,
it has reversed the process and has shown
an increase in ice volume since that time.
—Science News Letter.

geophysics ^

The Earth — A Dynamo

T he liquid core of the Earth may act
as the armature of a huge dynamo, in
which gigantic electric currents are gen-
erated, which in turn serve to magnetize
the Earth's shell. Such is the newest theory
proposed by Dr. Edward C. Bullard, head
of Britain’s National Physical Laboratory.

The Earth -dynamo theory, states Dr.
Bullard, would clarify the problem of why
there has been only a slight if any, dimi-
nution in the Earth’s magnetic field. This
hypothesis would also account for the fact
that compass variations from true north
change irregularly from one location to
another.

The theory that the Earth's liquid core
may act as a dynamo may be difficult to
prove by experiment, as stated by Dr.
Bullard, but it possibly can be proved by
mathematical analysis. It is conjectured
that the core of the Earth acts like an
armature in a dynamo, through the move-
ment of a conductor (the core) within a
magnetic field (the whole Earth). The

electricity thus generated is presumed to
react on the metal core and cause it, as
well as the surface of the Earth, to be-
come magnetized.

It has been estimated that a current
of 5 billion amperes would be sufficient to
maintain the Earth’s present magnetic
field.— The Neiv York Times.

^ inventions

3-D Microscope

T hree dimensional views of microscope
specimens are now possible, thanks to
the inventions of Roy Pence of the ento-
mology department of the University of
California. He has devised a simple, inex-
pensive method of producing 3-D images
of microscopic specimens. This technique
uses a single view-type camera mounted
in a fixed position.

To obtain the desired three-dimension
effect, two pictures are taken at the same
time from an angle. The specimen stage
is tilted to give the desired angles, the
degree of tilt approximating the eight
degrees of normal visual convergence of
the eye for dose work. A spedal iris dia-
phragm provides great focal depth.

When the two pictures are viewed
through an ordinary stereoscopic viewer,
a marked three-dimensional effect is ob-
tained. It is also possible to use slides so
made in 8-D still-screen projection. The
new 3-D microscope technique is said to
be especially useful in the lower magni-
fication range .— University of California.

^ medicine

Brain Cells Kept Alive

B rain nerve cells, when deprived of oxy-
gen, need not die, according to recent
discoveries reported by Doctors C. M.
Pomerat, C. George Lefeber, and McDon-
ald Smith of the University of Texas
medical branch at Galveston, Texas.
There is hope of restoring afflicted minds,
these experiments tend to prove. Movies
of a growth cone emanating from a nerve
cell in the human brain cortex showed life
after the brain tissue would ordinarily
have beep dead.

The dls photographed were those
maintained in special fluids that served to
keep them alive. Dr. Pomerat found that
some brain cells had an extraordinary
capacity for repair and we should not
think that every brain nerve cell dies In a
few minutes, just because the brain is de-
prived of oxygen. These successful experi-
ments in keeping a number of brain cells
alive (which ordinarily would have died)
justifies the hope that in the near future
scientists may discover a way to revive
brain cells. These studies may also reveal
how different chemicals affect nerve cells
and provide a method for improved treat-
ment of mental and nervous diseases.
— Science Service.

Fetal X-Rays

O ne of the latest developments in medi-
cal science is amniography , in Which
an opacifying fluid is injected into the
amniotic fluid in the fetal sac of pregnant
women, permitting X-rays of the fetus and
sac. Such X-ray examination will show,
for instance, whether the fetus is alive or
dead; the condition and placement of the
placenta (after-birth); abnormalities of

the fetus; possible presence of uterine
tumors; possibly the sex of the fetus; de-
formalities of the birth passage, etc,

No harm to mother or fetus (unborn
child) has been noted in (he experiments
so far conducted. Although amniography
has been used in early pregnancies, it has
more recently been employed in general
clinical practice in the last three months
of pregnancy. — Radiology.

£S> physics T*

Cosmic Rays Constant

T he atomic processes of Nature are far
more constant than the best man-made
devices. So constant is the high-energy
bombardment of the Earth by cosmic rays
from outer space that it has probably not
varied more than 10 to 20 percent during
the past 35,000 years!

This is the opinion expressed by Drs.
J. Laurence Kulp and Herbert L. Volcbak
of Columbia University’s Lament Geo-
logical Laboratory. Their deductions were
based in part on the new method of radio-
carbon dating.

For the last 4,000 years measurements
made by use of carbon-14 have shown a
very good check with known historical
dates. For checking older ages, use was
made of the carbon- 14 value of layers of
mud found in deep sea core samples,
which corresponded satisfactorily with
age-checks found by the radioactivity of
ionium method. The radioactive carbon
geological check-up is afforded by the fact
that cosmic rays in the upper atmosphere
convert nitrogen atoms into radioactive
carbon, which has an approximate life of
8,000 years .— Physical Review.

Spot Travels Faster Than Light

T he speed of light (approximately 186,-
000 miles per second) has been sur-
passed by a spot of light moving across a
cathode-ray tube, at the unbelievable ve-
locity of 202,000 miles a second! A Naval
research engineer and his associates photo-
graphed this flashing spot of light, In
seeming contradiction of the Einstein
theory.

However, the fast-moving light spot
measured by Harold J. Peake and his
group of scientists had no weight. The ve-
locity they measured was a “phase" of
"writing” velocity. The writing velocity
exceeding the speed of light was the result
of a signal voltage applied to the cathode-
rav tube, which was changing at the rate
of' 3,000,000 volts in 1/1,000,000 of a sec-
ond. Mr. Peake calculated the speed of the
moving spot of light at 13,000 inches in
1/1,000,000 of a second. The high-speed
spot was recorded on a device known as a
"time microscope .”— New York World-
Telegram and Sun.

^spatialogy^gf

Photons for Rocket Power

T he "spaceship" (or a high-altitude
rocket) of tomorrow may utilize a
stream of photons (light particles) as a
propellant— and achieve a speed dose to
that of light! (186,000 miles per second).
This startling prediction was ventured
recently by Dr. Eugen Saenger and his
wife Dr. Irene Saenger-Bredt of Paris, at
a technical meeting of the International
Astronautical Federation in Zurich, Switz-
erland.

One of the theories advanced was that

DECCMBER, 1953

63

the rocket (or a spaceship) speed might
be increased by using fuel combinations
of hydrogen and fluorine or atomic hydro-
gen. Dr. Saenger -Bredt expressed the
opinion that super speeds might eventu-
ally be attained more efficiently by utiliz-
ing a nuclear-energy source of fuel. It was
assumed that the photon-propelled rocket
(or a spaceship) would operate most effec-
tively when outside the atmosphere of the
Earth (or that of other planets).— The
New York Times.

Doubt Spaceship's Nearness

B efore a spaceship can take off from
the Earth there are a number of
technical problems to be solved, as was
pointed out by several speakers at a recent
meeting of the International Astronautical
Federation in Zurich, Switzerland. Milton
W. Rosen and Richard W. Snodgrass (of
the U.S. Naval Research Laboratory in
Washington) are reported to have stated
that they thought space-flying (escape
from the Earth) was not feasible yet, and
that the most promising task for the near
future was the construction of an Earth
satellite.

A fundamental error in rocket design
and operation, they stressed, is the idea or
assumption that the propellant mechanism
will function according to theoretical cal-
culation. So far, the rockets fail to burn
all the fuel and thus fail to reach the
calculated altitude. New fuel-mixture
ratio controls are necessary to overcome
this fault.

Marcel J. E. Golay of the U.S. Signal
Corps Engineering Laboratories at Fort
Monmouth, N. J., described new radio
contact plans necessary between space--
flyer crews and the Earth, using, possibly,; ‘
signals having a frequency as high as 800
megacycles. A signal-space plotting net-
work would be desirable, which might
require twenty or more Earth stations,
about six of which would maintain radio
contact with the space-flyer, to guard
against failure of communication. The
various radio stations would transfer con-
tact successively with the rocket or space-
flyer as the Earth rotates. This would call
for fine synchronization with a ‘‘central''
radio station, where the radio signals and
messages from the spaceship would be col-
lected and cleared.

New High-Aiiitude Rocket

T he newest method of sending explora-
tory rockets to great altitudes call* for
launching them from a high-flying piloted
(or pilotless) airplane. This technique,
was devised by Dr. S. F. Singer of

Government’s Office of Naval Research.

The rocket could be fired in any de-
sired direction. Such a rocket would carry
scientific instruments for measuring and
recording air pressures, sound velocities
(by the aid of grenades exploded at high
altitudes) , temperatures, daily and sea-
sonal variations of winds, ozone measure-
ments, etc. It should also be possible with
such high-flying rockets, to measure the
high-altitude currents in the auroral zone
when the Earth’s magnetic field fluctuates
wildly, causing radio and cable communi-
cation to be severely affected.

Furthermore, it may become possible
with such rockets to determine or record
the softness or hardness of X-rays emanat-
ing from the sun. Rockets for these high-
aldtude measurements need to ascend to
heights of 270,000 feet or more. The meas-
urements of variations in the ozone layer
would be of great value to meteorologists
and physicists,— The New York Times.

"Hell Roarer"

B right flashes of light in the sky over
Windsor Locks, Connecticut, caused
many people to phone the police with re-
ports of seeing flying saucers (or else
planes apparently in flames). The bright
flashes were caused by experimental tests
of the ‘‘Hell Roarer," a powerful mag-
nesium flare which lasts for more than 4
minutes. It is used by the U.S. Air Force
to take night photographs of enemy activ-
ity by special cameras mounted in high-
speed planes. The powdered magnesium is
contained in a torpedo-like cylinder 12
feet long, which is mounted on the wing
of the airplane.

It takes its name, ‘‘Hell Roarer,” from
. tjie noise it makes when in operation.
• Scientists at Wesleyan University, Middle-
town, Conn., developed the brilliant flare
for the Air Force. The new flare yields a
light equivalent to approximately 10 mil-
lion candlepower .— Science Service.

Bird Music

T he human ear is wonderfully sensitive
to a certain range of sounds, but it is
no match for the intricate sounds consti-
tuting many bird songs. Using an elec-
tronic device which reveals the pitch and
timing of the songbird’s every chirp. Pro-
fessors Donald j. Borror and Carl R.
Reese, ornithologists at the Ohio State

University, have discovered that the song-
bird’s simple melodies are not as simple
as we may sometimes think.

The audio spectrograph revealed, for
example, that one blue-jay sang almost a
major chord, starting with a high and a
low note simultaneously, then inserting a
middle note a hundredth of a second
later. A wood thrush sang four notes
simultaneously. Another discovery was
that different birds of the same species
have their own separate repertoires.

The concept that a bird’s song is not
merely a simple, involuntary call and ac-
tually may represent either a definite
form of artistic expression or a pattern
of communication is thought-provoking
enough to warrant further investigation.
Scientific teams should be set up to elec-
tronically record thousands of "songs”
from various birds and see if there is any
definite pattern of repetition or what re-
lationship the various “son|s” have to the
situation the bird may be in at the time.

It is unfortunate, but nevertheless
true, that while many forms of life on
this planet show definite signs of intel-
ligent behavior, and even of culture, no
really strong attempt has been made to
find how they communicate, or whether a
simple signal system takes the place of
articulate speech. Insects, such as the
ants, are particularly worthy of careful
study and research in this regard.—
Science Service.

Fastest Heart Beat

T he heart of the long- tailed shrew beats
at the unbelievable rate of 500 to 1,300
times a minute, faster than any other ani-
mal’s. Drs. Peter R. Morrison, Fred Ryser,
and Albert R. Dawe, zoologists of the
University of Wisconsin, made the meas-
urements of the rates of the shrew’s res-
piration and heart beat. The shrew
breathes about 800 times per minute,
compared to 15 times (average ) a minute
for man, whose heart beat averages 72
times a minute.

The larger the mammal, the slower the
heart beat, generally speaking. For ex-
ample, the mouse has a heart beat rate of
620 to 700 per minute; new-born human,
120 to 140 per minute; elephant, 24 to 53
per minute; beluga whale, 12 to 23 per
minute. Small birds like canaries and
humming birds have shown heart beat
rates o£ about 1,000 per minute. The
heart-beat rate for cold-blooded animals
is slower, that of a tortoise, for instance,
being about 10 to 20 times a minute and
that of the frog about SO times per minute.
—Science Service.

Hot Detector

T'HE University of California pulled a new one out of their scientific
hat the other day— an arctic instrument that detects humans hy
their body heat.

In case of an invasion in the Arctie area, the army has been search-
ing for ways in which its men can fight efficiently in the intense cold.
To that effect the Government has been conducting experiments in the
North for some time. This new heat detector is a direct outgrowth of
these experiments.

The instrument works by collecting reflected heat and setting up a
voltage change in a metal coil from the beat of a nearby body.
Because of thick fogs and heavy snowstorms in the North, a soldier can
stand hidden a few feet from his enemy. But not when the heat de-
tector is used. It can spot a man 100 feet away solely by his body
heat!— 3. W. Weh, Alameda, Calif .

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64

book reviews

Word Magic

DWELLERS IN THE MIRAGE and
THE FACE IN THE ABYSS, by A.
Merritt. Liveright Publishing Cerp,
N. Y., 1953. 638 pages. $2.75.

One of the unquestioned titans of fan-
tasy fiction was A. Merritt. His mastery
was evidenced most strongly in his tales
which may be defined loosely as science-
fantasies, stories which have some basis in
scientific fact, but which would not qual-
ify under any tight definition of science-
fiction.

Merritt was a young
newspaper reporter
specializing in cover-
ing crimes of violence
and death; an inno-
cently involved figure
in political manipula-
tion who was forced
to flee the country and
spend years roaming
Central America; and
the eventual editor of
Hearst’s American
Weekly. Merritt saw
life at its grimmest, most sordid level. It
Is likely, that his writing of beautiful
fantasies about wondrous, imaginative hap-
penings, related in a style of exquisite
beauty and appeal, and leavened by pro-
nounced elements of humanity, was his
form of escape from harsh reality. Mil-
lions of readers have accepted his avenue
of temporary release from their daily
problems, and made him one of the most
applauded fantasy writers in history.

The two novels in this volume represent
Merritt at the very peak of his ability.
The Dwellers in the Mirage is almost a
perfect example of his artistry. Although
concessions are made to scientific plausi-
bility, the story weaves an effective web
of fantasy against a background of lost
civilizations. The characterization is excel-

lent, and the struggle between the dual
personalities of the hero might be simply
broken down to the struggle between gop"
and evil, except that Merritt understands
that there are no black and white abso-
lutes in such things, and points this up
with poignancy and power.

The Face in the Abyss also Includes the
novel, The Snake Mother. The Snake
Mother is the last remaining member of
a part-human, part-reptilian race that
once inhabited the Earth and is the final
repository of an ancient culture's wisdom
and invention, including advanced atomic
knowledge. This tale, too, is told in the
human terms which bring Merritt’s most
far-fetched notions to life. The character
portrayal of the Snake Mother Is partic-
ularly memorable.

Donald A. Wollheim, In concluding his
introduction to this volume, has called
these two fantasies “great.” Reading them
for what they are, I am inclined to go
along with him.

The Gospel

SCIENCE-FICTION HANDBOOK, by
L. Sprague de Camp. Hermitage House,
N. Y., 1953, 328 pages. $350.

Ostensibly, this volume is the fifth in
a series of books aimed to comprise a pro-

fessional library for science-fiction writ-
ers, much in the manner of that possessed
by doctors, lawyers, and other professional
groups. Actually, while it does give much
valuable information on the art of writing
science-fiction, its greatest fascination lies
in the fact that it is probably the most
informative and delightfully entertaining
book on the general field of science-fiction
yet published.

The volume is divided into definite sec-
tions. There is a scholarly chapter on the
high points of the origins of science- fiction,
followed by another chapter on the mod-
ern development of the genre; there is
also a chapter on the markets and editors
in the field; another on readers and fans;
still another on leading writers; and nat-
urally the essential chapters on how to
do it.

The errors to be found in the volume
are of a minor nature. On the whole a
great deal of research is obvious in the
wealth of fascinating detail presented. The
author evidences that he has culled out
items which he feels will be of paramount
interest to the readers, and with reluctance
held back a wealth of other fascinating
data he has at his fingertips, some of
which is alluded to in his valuable “Notes”
and “Bibliography” at the end of the
book. There is a handy index appended.

De Camp has long been noted for the
sprightly style with which he writes his
articles, and this talent is evidenced here,
for this book can be read through by
the science-fiction reader for sheer enter-
tainment.

It seems Inconceivable that science-fic-
tion readers and even members of the lit-
erary minded public will not find this
book as interesting as the writers, and to
the latter it is probably the lightest form
of good instruction they will have received
in some time. Highly recommended.

Mutants

CHILDREN OF THE ATOM, by Wil-
mar Shiras, Gnome Press, Inc,, N. Y.,
1953. 216 pages. $2.75.

The superman theme in literature goes
back to Samson in the Bible and the
Norse gods in ancient mythology. In most
cases, the concept of a superman implied
great strength or extraordinary physical
ability. In the old days, such a concept
was justified, for physical strength repre-
sented the final authority. In modern
times, the idea of the superman has come
to imply mental superiority, since phys-
ical strength alone cannot suffice in today’s
more complex civilization. In science-fic-
tion the term “mutant” has been applied
to characters in stories that are born with
some form of mental superiority.

Sian, by A. E. van Vogt, is one of the
most well-known and popular novels of
mutations, dealing with the great prob-
lems mutants would have in gaining ac-
ceptance by the mass of ordinary human
beings who might regard their superiority
as a threat to their freedom. John Taine
in his powerful novel. Seeds of Life, con-
centrated on a mental superman who was
predominantly interested in using his
powers for scientific experiment and

achievement. Stanley G. Wdabaum, In
The New Adam, posed the question qf
a mental superman hopelessly in love with
a "normar* girl and of the problem of his
physical and mental incompatibility wttli
her. Earlier in the century, British nov-
elist J. D. Beresford wrote an adroit and
entertaining novel entitled The Hampden*
shire Wonder, dealing with a child far a
small English town who was a brilliant
mental mutation and the difficulties at-
tendant to schooling and raising him In
the ‘‘ordinary’’ fashion.

This present volume, Children of the
Atom , is closest akin to the Hampdenshire
Wonder, inasmuch as it deals with a bril-
liant group of mutated children, but has
dements of Sian incorporated, as these
children, aware of their exceptional en-
dowment, make every effort to conceal
their difference from the rest of the popu-
lation. The best chapter in the book deals
with the processes whereby a psychiatrist
discovers the special qualities of one of
these children, |

The emphasis in this volume Is placed
on the efforts of the mutated children to
adapt themselves to their fellows without
causing difficulty or arousing enmity. i-
Within its limits this is a successful ari4
entertaining book. The first three stork’s
have previously seen magazine publica-
tion, but new ones have been added and
appear here for the first time.

BOOKS RECEIVED

A GUIDE TO TOE MOON, by Patrick M 'em,
W. W. Norton Sc Company, Inc., N. Y. 1953*
248 p8£C8 S3. 95- 1

AHEADOF TIME, by Henry Kuttner. Ballan-
tine Books, nTy., 1953. 177 passes. 35*. «
BAJLXEO0M OP THE SKIES, by John D.
MacDonald. Greenberg Publishers, N,

1953 . 208 pages. $2.75, I

FLIGHT INTO YESTERDAY, by Chari*
Harness. Bouregy & Curl, Inc-, N. Y., :

256 pages. $2.75. t

ONCE UPON A STAS, by Kendall Foster
Crosses. Henry Holt, N. Y„ 1853. 237 pages.
$245.

OUR NEIGHBORING WORLDS, by V, &.
Firseff, M.A, Philosophical Library, Ini.,
N. Y., 1953. 326 pages. $6.00.

PRIZE SCIENCE FICTION, edited by Donald
A. Wollheim. The McBride Co., N. Y„ 1883.
230 pages. *3.00.

SCIENCE-FICTION ADVENTURES IN DI-
MENSION. edited by Groff Conklin, Ysr».
guard Press. N. Y., 1953. 354 pages. *2.95.,
SECOND STAGE J.ENSMEN, by Edw fad
Smith, Ph.D. Fantasy Press, Reading, 1933.
354 pages, $2.95, :

SPACE SERVICE, edited by Andre Nerfem,
World Publishing Co., Cleveland, 1953. ill

Tff MvfySrF OF OTHER WORLDS RE-
VEALED. Sterling Publishing Co., H, Y.,
1953. 1*4 pages. $2.35. Nonfiction.

THE SECRET MASTERS, by Gerald Kersh,
Ballantine Books, N. Y„ 1953. 225 page*.
35#.

THE UNDYING FIRE, by Fletcher Pratt.
BaUantine Books. N. Y., 1953. 148 pages.

35 A

THE WORLD OF PRIMITIVE MAN, by Paul
Kadis, Henry Schuman, N. Y., 1953. 370

wlt^bf^THE SUN, by Edgar P&ngbom,
Doubleday & Co., Inc., N. Y., 1953. 219
pages. $2.75.

WORLD OUT OF MIND, by 3. T. M’lutosh.
Doubleday & Company, Inc., Garden City,
N. Y., 19&. *2.75. 222 pages. _

LOST CIVILIZATIONS, by H. Rider Haggard.
Dover Publications, N. Y„ 1953. 76S pages.

*}§ 9 ENB OF THE WORLD, by Kenneth
Hener, Rinehart & Co., N. Y., 1953. 220
pages. $3.00.

KILLER TO COME, by Sam Mexwtn, Jr.
Abelard Press, N. Y„ 1953. 254 pages. *2.78.

6 $

A Matter of Dimensions

Editor:

Is there anything like a Klein bottle?
What is its shape and purpose?

Samuel D'Orlenzio, Jr.

Philadelphia, Pa.

Answer;

The Klein bottle represents a theoreti-
cal concept of how a one-dimensional
object— that is, a straight line— might look
if it could be warped into three
dimensions.

If you define one dimension as “length
or a straight line with no thickness,” then
the moment the line is bent it becomes
two-dimensional. But, as there is no such
thing as a straight line, (even light doesn’t
travel in a straight line), you have reason
to hold that there is no true standard for
straight in the universe except as a mathe-
matical concept. And, as you don’t have
anything straight to start with, nothing
cart be warped from straight, but can only
be warped further than it already is.

But, mathematicians like to conjure
with such problems and have come up
with a number of stunts to illustrate the
problem of defining dimensions. One of
these is the mobius which is shown here.

A MOBIVS

A onesided surface, formed by holding one end AB of
a rectangle , A BCD fixed and giving the paper one twist
before pasting the ends together as indicated above.

With a pencil trace a line continuously on
the surface. You will find that it comes
back to the starting point, without turn-
ing corners which would make it a two-
dimensional object. The mobius repre-
sents a one-dimensional line “warped"
into a two-dimensional figure.

Now, see the solid figure here. It has
only one surface and only one edge, e- en
though it is three-dimensional, which it
shouldn’t be from the ordinary definitions
for surface and edge. Start* any place
along the surface and trace a line, or
trace along an edge. The top becomes the
inside, bottom, and outside. When you
get back to the starting point your pencil
will have negotiated the perimeter of the
solid. So you have a solid with one plane
and one edge.

The Klein bottle is somewhat similar.
Many models have been made from glass
or clear plastic. You can trace a line
around the object to come back to the
starting point and in doing so you can
pass from the outside to the inside of the
figure and back again.

There are four-dimensional tricks also,
the tesseract, for example, which makes
two cubes look like six cubes. For addi-
tional information, we recommend that
you examine books at your public library
dealing with mathematical oddities, or see
George Gamov's r- 2 -y Infinity. For a Klein
bottle see illustration for The Dimen-
sional Terror in the June issue.

—Editor.

More About the Integral Nature
of Atomic Weights

Editor:

Concerning the letter from J. Arico,
which you printed in your August issue,
perhaps the following comments may be
of interest:

The integral nature of many of the
atomic weights was noticed over a hundred
years ago, and it was suspected by many
chemists that more accurate work would
reveal that all were integral. This led to
some of the most accurate analyses of the
past century, which definitely showed that
chlorine and many others were definitely
not integral multiples of the weight of
hydrogen. However, early in this century
it was shown mathematically that the
probability that as many of the atomic
weights should be integral as are, by pure
chance was something less than one in a
thousand. This stimulated further specu-
lation and with the discovery of isotopes
by Aston, it was thought that now all
atomic weights of the separate isotopes
would become integral.

Further study, however, showed this was
not true, and the deviation of atomic
weights from integral multiples of that of
hydrogen was termed the “mass defect.” A
graph of mass defect against atomic num-
ber shows that hydrogen is high on one
side and uranium on the other, with the
transition elements— iron, cobalt, nickel—
at the bottom.

As a matter of fact, when hydrogen
forms helium (and other elements) the
“mass defect” or loss of mass is converted
to energy, and it is precisely this reaction
which accounts for the sun’s energy, and
is also the reaction utilized in the hydro-
gen bomb. In the case of the uranium or
plutonium atomic bomb the same sort of
effect is utilized, the products of the
nuclear reaction having a smaller “pack-
ing fraction” than the reactants, and thus
releasing energy according to the well-
known equation E—mc 1 , where “m” is the
difference of mass between the reactants
and products, usually a fraction of 1 per-
cent of the mass involved but still very
great when we consider that “c" is the
velocity of light in cm/sec. (3 x 10 10 ).

So we see that, if all the atomic weights
had been integral, we should not have the
possibility of atomic energy!

Gustav Albrecht

Altadena, Calif.

Cemment:

Our compliments to Dr. Albrecht for
additional, clear elucidation. We repro-
duce his letter in its entirety.

It is only a guess that the sun’s heat is
due to the energy change resulting from
the conversion of hydrogen to helium.
The resultant energy of such a conversion
would be greater than for any other atomic
transmutation so far considered possible.
This is what makes the prospect of a
hydrogen bomb so fascinating to scientists,
aside from its potential military value.

Whether or not the hydrogen bomb was
tested recently is a detail still clothed in
secrecy. But it has been conjectured that
lithium fission may be involved in an
attempt to produce the high temperatures
thought necessary. When an atom of
lithium is bombarded with protons it splits

into two atoms of helium and produces
more energy than any known element,
weight for weight; about twice that pos-
sible from uranium 235. It is conjectural,
also, whether Ex-President Truman alluded
to the hydrogen bomb or to the possibility
of annihilation of all matter with simul-
taneous conversion into energy, when he
hinted at the terrific potentials which
scientists had attained.

—Editor.

A Correction?

Editor:

An error appears in your August issue,
Science Questions and Answers Depart-
ment. Carbon doesn’t have an atomic
weight of 16 thousand but 16.000.

Dave McCall
Iowa City, Iowa

Answer:

You found an error, all right, but didn’t
call it correctly. It is oxygen which has an
atomic weight of 16.000, not 16,000, as
given. Somehow a comma was inadver-
tently substituted for a decimal point.
But, as all other atomic weights were cor-
rectly listed, we feel sure the point was
not missed (sic) except by a few sharp-
eyed persons like yourself. For your rec-
ords: carbon has an atomic weight of
12.010. -Editor.

The Classic Tree Problem

Editor:

Here is a problem to which I would
like a scientific answer. A tree is 15 feet
tall. It has a branch 6 feet from the
ground. Years later the tree has grown
to 45 feet. How much further is the
branch from the ground? Would a rose-
bush fastened in a normal way to a wire
fence lift the fence from the ground by
growth alone?

Miss Mary Esposito
Brooklyn, N. Y.

Answer:

It depends on how you make your
measurements. If you measure from a
fixed spot on the ground to the center of
the branch, the distance remains the same,
provided there has been neither soil ero-
sion to drop the level nor an increase in
land height because of accumulation. But,
as the diameter of the branch increases
with the growth of the tree, the clearance
from ground to branch will be less than it
was before. On the other hand, if you set
a distance of a certain number of feet
from the trunk of the tree, for establish-
ing the position from which the vertical
distance is to be measured, then the
change in height will depend on the angle
of the branches, as well as in the diameters,
angles to the trunk. A couple of simple
sketches will show you that you are meas-
uring further along the hypotenuse of
the angle as the diameter of the trunk
increases. Just remember that plant
growth takes place at the terminal ends
of the branches, as well as in the diameters.
Any mark— for example, a nail driven into
the side of the trunk— will remain at the
same distance to the ground regardless of
how tall the tree grows.

No, the rose hush will not lift the fence
—for the same reasons.

—Editor.

66

SCIENCE-FICTION +

SOENCE-FN ;TI0N around the world

Science-fiction. magazines have been predominantly an American phenomenon— a product of this country’s
highly technological civilization. However-, the modern advances of science have been so tremendous, as to make a
powerful impact upon even the most conservative countries. The consequence has been that the people of the
world are much more inclined now to place credence in the speculations of science-fiction than at any other time in
history. On this page are reproduced the covers of science-fiction magazines from Holland. Italy, Mexico, England,
Scotland and Australia, According to late reports, science-fiction magazines have already been contemplated or in
the process of appearing in many other nations. As the world progresses, science-fiction will become universal.

Scbnce’feftf&i

of Tomorrow

Scotland: A’cfafe is a bulky, 120-page,
larger-than-digcst size maga/inr. featur-
ing a complete novel and short storks in
every issue, in addition to departments of
every variety. The material, except for an
occasional short reprint, is new. At present
the periodical is published every quarter.

Prvtftwr Carter

i/iSPACf ly Mu Kint

^ *

Australia: Thrills, Incorporated was the first attempt at
an Australian science-fiction periodical. Its slant was pre-
dominantly juvenile adventure. It went through consider-
able changes of size, format and pages and has temporarily
suspended, though there is a possibility of its revival.

Mexico: Los Cuentos Fantasticos has produced
well over forty issues depending for its content
upon stories indiscriminately reprinted from
American Magazines and books. Most of its
covers are copied from American periodicals.
However, in recent issues attempts have been
made to develop Mexican talent in both fiction
and illustrating. There are usually 40 pulp-size
pages, readable typography, and no departments.

mmT€S€MiP r

Italy: Urania is probably the most pretentious of
all foreign science-fiction periodicals. Most of its
fiction is reprinted from American sources and
is of good quality. There is a substantial section of
popular scientific articles. All the illustrations are
new and are well done. The Magazine is hand-

England : Science-Fantasy was originally started by
Walter Gillings, who edited the first British science-
fiction magazine 7 ales of Wonder. It is now under
the directorship of John Carncll, who also pub-
lishes Mew Worlds. The two magazines, now digest-
size, 120 pages, maintain a good level of quality,
publishing original material and illustrations. An-

*Holland: Planed is the second serious
attempt at a science-fiction magazine in
the land of the dikes, an earlier attempt
failing after three issues. This is a 96-
page, digest-size publication, which, at
the start, is reprinting material from
British science-fiction magazines. The
illustrations are new. and in addition to
the stories there are book and film reviews.

ANDROMEDA

ALPHA

CENTAUR!

4 YEARS
4 MONTHS
T DAYS

750,000
LIGHT YEARS

; JUPITER
; 35 MINUTES

I 11 SECONDS

'MARS
4 minutes
2! SECONDS

' • SATURN

NEPTUNE

4 HOURS
2 MINUTES

' / 1 HOUR-ll SECONDS

VENUS,

2 MINUTES
18 SECONDS

URANUS
2 HOURS
32 MINUTE:

RY

' t MINUTES'

PlUTC

6 HOURS
25 MINUTES

EXTRA-TERRESTRIAL COMMUNICATION

E lectricity travels over 186,000 miles a second. There
is no distance on earth where it takes even one second
for electricity or radio waves to span; because the
longest distance on earth is around our Equator, and this
is only 24,850 miles. But let us imagine we had radio
connections between the Earth and the other planets.
How long do you suppose it: would take for your tele-
phone conversation or a radio broadcast to get there?

Imagine that your best girl is on the planet Neptune.
You pick up your telephone receiver ami tell the operator
to contact that planet. When Central says "ail ready,”
you shout into the telephone "Hello, Sweetheart, How Are
You?'' You hang up and go to the nearest movie and
enjoy a good feature. Then you have a good night's sleep
and, sometime in the morning hours, Central will make
the return connection — to be exact, 8 HOURS AND
4 MINUTES AFTER YOU HAVE FIRST SPOKEN
INTO YOUR PHONE — you will then hear the voice of
your sweetheart ansuvring you. She will not hear your
answer for 4 hours and 2 minutes after you have hung up.
Remember, all that time your voice will he travelling by
radio at the incredible speed of light, 186,000 miles a second
towards Neptune, but so great are the distances in outer
space that it takes even light — the fastest thing ue know —
many hours to get there. If your sweetheart were stationed
on a planet lielonging to the star, Alpha Centaur i — our
Sun’s nearest neighbor — it would take your voice over 4
years to get there and a further 4 years to get an answer.
Not much point in carrying on a long series of conversa-
tions at this rale, because you and your sweetheart would
be dead hv that time. (20 short sentences, and their

EXTRA-TERRESTRIAL

COMMUNICATION